Far Beyond Normal
by jA-kL
Summary: Buffy did not survive her confrontation with the First. Fortunately, Buffy has never been one to let death stand in her way...
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

**Far Beyond Normal**

Prologue

One after another, the girls drew the blade across their forearms and held them out, until finally enough blood was spilled to open the seal, revealing a stairwell descending into the invisible blackness of the Hellmouth below.

Without hesitating, Buffy descended into the smoky darkness of what she was uncomfortably aware was truly the Mouth of Hell. She didn't look back to see if the Potentials followed her, afraid to see what they would be showing on their faces. She could imagine it though: barely-restrained terror, fierce determination, and, worst of all, a desperate hope that Buffy knew what she was doing, and that her plan might save them all. Since she had saved them from the Torak-han after they walked into the ambush their faith in her had been restored, their confidence in her unbound.

Buffy herself wasn't so optimistic. As she descended stairs that were only partially physical, entering a realm that was only partly tangible, she wished she shared their confidence, wished she still had the euphoric feeling that had filled her when the plan had suddenly come to her in what had seemed like a brilliant flash of insight. But the deeper they descended into the slightly-out-of-phase realm of the Hellmouth, the less certain she became. Gaping holes in what had once seemed to be a perfect path to victory were suddenly becoming obvious, only now that it was far too late to do anything about it. They were committed…. they were out of time… and there was no backup plan.

Distracted by her mental gyrations, Buffy was caught by surprise when she came to the end of the stairwell. Desperately trying to focus, she tried to ignore the mental warnings screaming at her that something was horribly wrong. Experience has shown that it wasn't wise to second-guess herself once they were committed to a plan of action. But normally the entire Scooby Gang had discussed and debated all the possible ramifications of any plan they came up with before they reached the point of no return. Not this time. Buffy had come up with the idea, and everyone had agreed to it without suggesting a single alternative, not even a tiny alteration. That had never happened before. Instead of being filled with pride at the confidence being displayed by her friends and colleagues, Buffy was terrified that she was Custer leading her troops into their own personal Little Big Horn.

She knew full well why it had happened. Everyone had been so tired of the fear and stupidity, tired of the rancor and distrust, just physically and emotionally _tired_ after so many unending days of terror. They had reached a point where they were so desperate for any sign of hope, anything that might give them even the slightest chance of survival --to say nothing of actual _victory_-- that when Buffy showed up with not one but _two_ weapons which together had the potential to shift the balance of power, nobody had wanted to look at it too closely, to question even the most basic assumptions. Questions which now seemed obvious: How did she know that the Scythe had the power to activate all the Potentials? Where did the Amulet come from? Could she really trust a woman who suddenly showed up claiming to be on her side, but who had been unknown to all of the long history of the Watchers?

They hadn't questioned it because none of it had really mattered. They were falling apart, fear and frustration destroying what little reserves of strength the Potentials had once held. An unspoken judgment had been reached that they would go with _any_ plan they came up with that had even the slightest chance of working, because there was no point in waiting around for a better one reached too late, after the Potentials had been reduced to terror-stricken, stressed-out, catatonic wrecks. So they went with what they had, not considering the consequences, and as Buffy looked down into the enormous cavern filled with unending legions of Torak-han she suddenly wished they had taken the time to think things through.

No cavern this size could exist in earthquake-prone California. Of course normal laws of physics and geology didn't necessarily apply within the twisted universe within the Hellmouth. Noticing the horror on the faces of the Potentials, Buffy tried to reassure them that everything was under control –knowing damned well she wasn't convincing anyone, not even herself. Buffy privately hoped Willow had taken that twisted space into consideration when designing her Spell. And hoped that the spell worked. And especially hoped that it worked Real Soon Now, because suddenly one of the Torak-han saw their group standing on the small ledge overlooking the vast cavern, and they were all out of time.

The Torak-han instantly attacked them in unending waves, only their inability to reach the ledge except by using narrow paths preventing the girls from being overwhelmed through sheer numbers. These monsters weren't nearly as powerful as the mighty warrior Buffy had faced in single combat above ground, and with Faith backing her they were able to fight off the first mad onslaught. The Potentials had always shown more martial arts skills than Buffy recalled possessing before she was Called, and Kennedy had trained them into a formidable fighting force, so they provided not-inconsiderable backup for the two Slayers. In fact, it took her a few seconds to realize just how well they were fighting, that it wasn't just she and Faith holding off the hordes of Uber-vamps. The Potentials were fighting almost as well. Only then did she understand that Willow's spell had succeeded, and they were no longer Potentials.

They were Slayers.

Twenty six Slayers made for the most formidably-skilled fighting unit the world had ever known. The Torak-han fell before them in droves. But more kept coming. From somewhere she heard Kennedy shout "Buffy! Catch!" and the thrown Scythe found her hand without her eyes having to look away from the approaching uber-vamps. Energized by the simple act of holding the scythe, Buffy became the personification of Death itself, mowing down her enemies in huge swaths, bodies and pieces of bodies falling before her like wheat at harvest. The former Potentials, now Slayers, were taking on a dozen times their own numbers. But there weren't fighting as a team, protecting each other. Instead they seemed almost giddy with their new-found strength and power, wanting to indulge in wholesale slaughter to celebrate their individual Becoming.

It was a weakness the Torak-han were quick to exploit. Some of the Slayers went down, and a way was suddenly open for a few of the uber-vamps to get through to the stairwell and quickly ascend to the world above. To the _school_ above, where everyone Buffy loved was waiting.

Momentarily pausing in her efforts to mow down the enemy, Buffy recognized the danger, and its cause. By training and temperament Slayers were solitary fighters. The reasons for it were obvious, but it was a weakness and Buffy was suddenly horrified that such a simple mental blind spot was about to get her friends, her _family_, killed.

Or maybe not. Distracted by concern for her friends, it took Buffy a few seconds to notice the change in Spike. Only when he called out did she see the light beginning to shine from the Amulet. "Buffy! Whatever this thing does, I think it's…" The pain in his voice was noticeable, as was his determination not to give into it. Buffy was a Slayer, charged with the task of protecting humanity, and the knowledge that their only chance of victory lay in protecting Spike and giving the Amulet time to do its work overrode even her frantic concern for those above, who were about to face the escaping uber-vamps with no Slayer to protect them. Her heart ached for what she knew her decision would mean for her friends above… but she was a Slayer, and she had no choice but to do what she must. "Keep the line together! Drive them to the edge! We can't let them…"

Her words were suddenly cut off in an agonized moan as an unseen Torak-han stabbed her in the back.

The pain was excruciating. Her thoughts were jumbled, the primary one being "_We really _suck_ at teamwork_" before she saw Faith rushing over to her side. The frantic concern in her counterpart's eyes was unexpected, but Buffy knew it was already too late. Too late for _her_; but maybe not too late for _them_. Tossing the Dark Slayer the scythe, she wanted to tell her so much, but could barely speak. "Hold the line!" There was supposed to be more, but she could no longer get the words out. Protect Spike. Please God let the Amulet do what we hope it will do. Please let this all be worth it, let some of them --some of her _family_-- live through this horror.

None of it could be put into words. The pain became so intense Buffy could no longer speak, could barely even move. Both her kidney and liver had been sliced open, spilling chemicals into her body that would inevitably kill her even if blood loss didn't. Maybe it would have been different had a doctor been available, but even Slayer healing wasn't up to the challenge of such massive trauma. Buffy could feel herself fading away, knew she was dying, and it was really unfair that her last sight in this world would be of the First, looking exactly like her, only with a teensy-tiny blood smear on the back of her sweater, nothing like the blood-soaked puddle forming around Buffy herself. She remembered once belittling the First, calling it 'the Taunter,' and perhaps it remembered too as it looked down on her, holding up a hand covered in less blood than Buffy got from shaving her legs, eyes hard and vicious as she taunted her fallen foe.

"Oh no! Ow! Mommmy, this mortal wound is all… _itchy_." It smirked at her, its face evil and triumphant, not at all like her own clammy, pale skin, its eyes bright and exultant, nothing like the fading light in Buffy's own eyes. "You pulled a nice trick. You came pretty close to smacking me down. What more do you want?"

It had timed its words to perfection. The life in Buffy's eyes faded away just as its speech ended, but with death came a sudden clarity, a sudden understanding which she hadn't been able to achieve in life. She was finally able to see the vast, titanic scale and power of the First, not just the human avatar that her formerly only-human vision had been limited to perceiving. The human mind was not capable of comprehending such immense power; an incorporeal gestalt of trillions of symbiotic parts spread throughout space and time, across dimensions and realities, extending infinitely far in every direction yet somehow confined to one location, mirrors-upon-mirrors of infinitely regressed Power, unseen but now apparent, forever beyond the understanding of mortal minds.

Only now that it was too late did Buffy begin to grasp the power of the Being she had once cavalierly dismissed. Next to the First, even Glory had been an insignificant bug. As her life faded away and the world disappeared from around her, Buffy was able to observe the true reality of her enemy, and see the triumph in its eyes as she finally understood the depth of her failure, the scale of her enemies' ambitions. Trillions of eyes, mirror-upon-mirror fashion, faced her in a searing, glacial triumph. "_Now_ you begin to understand! Your puny mind cannot grasp the scale of the true Universe or My place in it! But your kind _does_ have its own power, its own access to unlimited resources, which for all My power have been denied to Me since the dawn of time. Long have I waited for the opportunity to become corporeal, to be able to manipulate matter and energies as is only possible by one of your kind. This was forbidden to Me. Until now! Until _you_ made it possible! It is fitting that you, who once defeated a God –a puny one, but a God nonetheless—should be the instrument of My own destiny!"

A billion hands rose, each slightly out of step, a kind of strobe effect, but as the finger approached her face Buffy could see the billions of separate component beings that made up the First, even though in reality it was only one finger coming to touch her lightly on the forehead. In that instant her perceptions changed, no longer limited by the normal, physical senses of a living being, her consciousness now so close to death she was able to comprehend the Infinite, the transdimensional existence that was reality for the First. It wasn't telepathy. Buffy couldn't read its mind, but in a way that made things even worse. What she experienced was a flash of understanding, her rapidly-approaching death and the First's own guidance allowing her to finally _understand_ what she previously could not even imagine.

Images flashed by too fast to comprehend but not too fast to witness. The error in the spell that the Shadowmen had used to create the Slayer. That spell could accommodate her death and resurrection, so long as the power was passed on to the next Potential. But Willow had done something, exploited a flaw, to ensure that the Slayer line and lineage returned to her from Faith when she brought her back after her second death. Willow had never trusted Faith, and Buffy should have realized she would do something like that even if Willow had never mentioned it. Because it was important, especially to the First. As someone who had died, the First could assume Buffy's form. And as the holder of the Slayer lineage, the First now had access to all the powers of the slayer line, past, present… and future.

Even then, only a sacrifice of sufficient magnitude could bring the First into a state of corporeality. The First wasn't matter or energy, wasn't even truly a part of the universe humans could comprehend. But a sacrifice big enough to breach the magical wards of the Hellmouth could release enough energy to create matter from whatever non-corporeal, interdimensional, immaterial substance unknown to human science that comprised the First. Buffy suddenly understood why the Torak-han champion had not killed her when it had defeated her during their first encounter. The idea had been to draw the Slayer army into the Hellmouth, where they –the combined mystical energies of an entire _army_ of Slayers-- would be sacrificed by the waiting Torak-han hordes. But when Buffy, as the Slayer champion, had defeated the strongest of the uber-vamps during their rematch, and thereby proven the superiority of the Slayers, the First made a small adjustment to its plans. _The First_ had provided the amulet and the scythe, had provided the tools and weapons the Slayers would need to defeat the Torak-han, because it intended to take Buffy's place in charge of an army of Slayers. And it was willing to sacrifice its army of uber-vamps to make that happen.

Her vision became restricted to an increasingly narrow tunnel as true death approached. Buffy desperately tried to maintain her eye contact with the infinitely bottomless gaze of the First, tried to silently threaten it, tried to tell it that it wouldn't succeed, that she would somehow beat it. But the First only gazed back with unimpressed gloating, savoring its victory. It knew it had nothing to fear. It hadn't just beaten her; it had taken everything from her.

Including her life.

As her narrowed vision tunneled into an approaching point of light, Buffy stopped breathing, but could suddenly feel the Amulet activate, the uber-vamps cut down in unending numbers, the power of the darkest of black magic being unleashed by their sacrifice. Mouth no longer working, she silently screamed in horror and pain as she felt the Hellmouth open, titanic energies ready to explode outwards… but then felt most of that energy suddenly redirected inwards, smashing into her body with the power of an invisible nuclear blast. A fraction of a second later she could feel 'her' body move… under the First's control, the fatal stab in her back suddenly reduced to a minor flesh wound.

And she could dimly feel the exultant triumph of the few surviving Slayers, who were already looking at 'her' with adoration bordering on worship, she having brought them 'victory' when all seemed lost.

But that was the last thing she was able to feel. Because a second later there was nothing left to feel.

She was dead.


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

**Far Beyond Normal**

**Chapter One**

She was alive!

Her back suddenly jerked upright as if powered by an electric shock. Her lungs sucked back huge volumes of air, almost causing her to hyperventilate due to the trauma of recalling that she hadn't been able to draw breath for the past several minutes. Without thinking about it her hand came up to her chest, verifying a heartbeat. And her heart was most definitely beating… probably 300 beats a minute, was her frantic estimate.

It took some time for her to calm down enough to pay any attention to her surroundings. She gave a momentary thought to being surprised that it had taken so long for her to achieve even such a limited recovery; this was her third resurrection, after all. By now she should be used to coming back from the dead. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. Perhaps it wasn't something you ever got used to, however. She would be just as happy if she didn't become any more familiar with the experience.

Even before she had recovered sufficient self-control to look around, Buffy knew she was in a hospital. The smell, the muffled sounds, the lighting… everything about it shouted 'hospital' to someone all too familiar with their particular vibe. With her heart rate down to a mere 200 beats a minute or so Buffy had enough control to look around and verify what she already knew. White sheets, starched uncomfortably, random equipment, most of it turned off. A few blinking lights, and a dim fluorescent glow providing just enough illumination to show five other beds in the room, mobile cloth wall units pushed aside to show that all were occupied.

None of her roommates were awake. None of them were hooked up to any of the equipment she could see racked beside two of the beds nearest the door, so she assumed that nobody was injured too badly. Definitely not the critical care ward, she judged. She verified that by looking down at her body, happy to see that the normal complement of appendages were still attached and functional. No bandages in sight either. Not even around her waist, and when she felt around her back she didn't feel a scar where the sword had penetrated. Even for a Slayer it would take a long time to recover from such a wound, and some days longer for the scar to fade. She had to face the possibility that considerable time had passed since the events in the cavern. The fact that she had survived it at all came as a stunning surprise.

Looking over at her companions, she first noticed that they weren't Slayers… five of them were male, the other woman well into her forties… and only then noticed how still they were, how vacant their expressions, how relaxed their muscles appeared. They weren't sleeping, and she had to consider the possibility that they were in comas. She had visited Faith in a 'long term care facility' for coma patients, and the antiseptic, dehumanized room she was in, with its complete lack of any flowers or other human touches, reminded her suddenly of that unpleasant place. She also recalled Faith talking about awakening from her coma; how confused she had been, how she hadn't realized so much time had passed.

Suddenly concerned, Buffy felt her face. No age lines; her hair wasn't gray.

But it was at least six inches longer than it had been when she entered the cavern. And darker, almost brown.

Jumping out of the bed, Buffy was surprised at how lethargic she felt, how unresponsive her body was. Normally a Slayers' body responded like a well-oiled machine. It was feline, subtly predatory. Effortlessly graceful, it was like a high-performance machine, tuned to respond to the slightest command. Buffy felt… strange. Not so much old as… weak. Granted there was a teensy weensy possibility that she had just awakened from a coma of unknown duration, but even after awakening from a coma that would have left a normal girl unable to walk, Faith had been able to fight and run. It wasn't so much that she felt injured, but more along the lines that Buffy felt the way she used to, before…

Oh, crap.

Getting out of the bed, she tried to lift it… and could barely budge a bed that couldn't have weighed more than a hundred pounds. A Slayer could lift that much weight with her pinky finger… and Buffy couldn't. Which, when combined with the degradation of her other senses, made it pretty clear that she was no longer a Slayer.

Since awakening she had assumed that her impaired senses were the result of the coma, or possibly due to being drugged. But she couldn't deny it anymore. Whatever had happened to her, it had turned her into a normal girl.

It was a lot to take in, and her immediate reaction of abject horror caught her by surprise. Hadn't she hated being a Slayer? Granted that having superpowers was moderately cool, but at the cost of having to fight to the death every night, having the weight of the world rest on her shoulders during all-to-frequent apocalypses, well, that part of it blew chunks. No longer having that sort of responsibility should have been an enormous relief. She had often claimed that she would unhesitatingly give up the power if ever given the chance. But she hadn't been given a choice, and having the decision imposed on her forced her to reassess exactly how much she had grown… accustomed… to having the powers of a Slayer.

It was possible the situation was temporary, a side effect of the coma or a drug used to restrain her during her recovery period. But it didn't feel that way. She remembered the _Cruciamentem_ in nauseating detail, and this felt different. There she could feel that her powers were being repressed: this felt like they were _gone_, possibly for good. That thought almost caused her to panic before hard-won maturity shook her out of an incipient tantrum. Even if she no longer had Slayer _powers_ she still possessed the knowledge and experience gained over seven tumultuous years as a Slayer. That experience allowed her to prioritize, to realize that she couldn't waste time worrying about 'how' or 'why' it had happened, or even if it was permanent. The disastrous encounter with the First had only emphasized how suicidal it was to go off half-cocked, and reminded her to think things through before acting out of frustration. Before she took any actions, she needed to assess her situation while she had the opportunity to do so.

Giles had tried to drum the process into her head; assess the situation, determine her options, prioritize her needs, and determine the optimum path to achieving her objectives. Being Buffy, she normally decided that she would just beat upon her enemies until their plans failed on account of being dead, but that wasn't an option here. And one thing she didn't have time for was recriminations. Not just over her failure, but over the failure of her entire support system. From Giles to Xander, they had screwed up by the numbers, in way over their heads without the slightest clue as to what was really going on. OK, they had kicked her out of her own home… but that was only after she had come up with a bizarre 'plan' for a suicidal, frontal assault on the winery, after getting her ass kicked by the Uber-vamp champion. _They_ might have overreacted to the situation, but that didn't change a fact that even Buffy had to admit: _she_ must have been out of her freaking mind.

That train of thought was definitely not one she wanted to follow if she wanted to stay away from recriminations. Yes, she had failed in her duty… but she couldn't save everyone. Giles had little time or patience with angst. He felt it was a sign of conceit, not compassion. Demanding that everyone 'acknowledge your pain' over being unable to prevent the slightest harm to someone halfway across the world. One point he would like to bring up was a rhetorical question asking how many African famine victims they had saved that day. You had to face the fact that you simply couldn't save everyone. Especially when your emotions were being manipulated, your very actions being subtly guided by a being so powerful they never stood a chance against it. It really sucked that they had lost, but she couldn't afford to feel guilty about surviving…

That thought brought her up short. She had survived, and she would _not_ feel guilty, or worse yet… _disappointed_. Her priority now would be to find out who else had survived, and what the First was doing. Not that there was a whole helluva lot she could do about it now that she was a mere mortal when she hadn't been able to stop it when she possessed the full Slayer package, but she hadn't known what she faced then either. She wondered if anyone realized it now.

Getting back on the bed, she got comfortable and thought about what she would need to do first. As usual, what she really needed most was information. Normally that was the Scoobies job, while she acted as the muscle. Both of those were no longer the case. Her immediate priorities were to quickly find out how much time had passed since the disaster in Sunnydale, and to find out if the First knew that she was still alive. Any plans she made afterwards would depend upon those answers. Those plans would have to be pretty limited and flexible given her reduced circumstances and limited options, but the long-term objective would not change. Find out if Dawn had survived. If her friends had survived. Because come hell or high water, she intended to find a way to set up a rematch with the First. Under different rules this time. Rules that gave her a chance of actually winning.

Lying back onto the starchy pillows, Buffy paused a minute, momentarily diverted by the meaning behind the expression 'come hell or high water.' She wondered where it came from, and if it had actually been Hell they faced, or just a lot of water. Likely only a flood, she finally decided, before returning to thoughts of taking down the First. Nothing she could think of would do it… in fact nothing she considered had any chance of even irritating the bitch, which truly sucked. Because it had her body, access to her friends, and as far as she knew none of them even knew it. One of those friends was the most powerful witch the world had seen in centuries, and another was Buffy's sister… who just happened to be an avatar of the Key, a mystical being potentially even more powerful than the First itself. The thought of the First manipulating them, using their love for Buffy to force them to do its bidding, was absolutely intolerable.

She was still considering her options when she drifted off to sleep.

Looking back on it, it probably wasn't a good idea to lie back on the bed. As a normal human being, no longer programmed to hunt at night, she required far more than the few hours sleep that was all a Slayer needed. After so long, however, she had forgotten how much sleep a normal person needed, and how quickly sleep could sneak up on her. Never even noticing that she had drifted off, she didn't realize that since she was lying in bed, under the covers, anyone who entered the room would think she was still just another comatose patient. When the nurse came in to reposition the patients so they didn't develop bedsores, Buffy reacted to her impersonal, less-than-gentle touch like the Slayer she had once been, lashing out in a movement which had it been imparted with anything close to Slayer strength would have caused permanent injury. Fortunately for the nurse, her new 98 pound weakling status meant that the potentially disabling blow merely hurt like hell.

And fortunately for Buffy, the 250 pound nurse was far less interested in exacting revenge than she was in witnessing a medical miracle. She ignored Buffy's embarrassed apologies to run into the hall, screaming for a doctor.

What followed was barely-restrained chaos and increasing frustration for the ex-Slayer. Nobody would answer her questions, as they didn't want to 'contaminate her responses.' But she had no answers for the doctors either, which led to increasing frustration on their part as they tried to figure out how she could have suddenly, spontaneously, awoken from a catatonic state. Gradually Buffy figured out that as far as they were concerned, she had been in a state of increasing disassociation for the past five years, and catatonic to the point of stupor for more than a year. Which meant they weren't going to buy into the whole Slayer mythos, the existence of the Hellmouth, or the existence of the First, because as far as they were concerned it had never happened and she had really been their patient the entire time.

Although she hadn't been able to stay in college following her mothers' death, Buffy had done quite well while she was there, particularly in psychology. She didn't pretend that she would know a fraction of what the medical staff would know on the subject, but she knew enough not to make herself sound like a complete loon. But the strain of having to maintain a believable story, to be subjected to the pokes and prodding of the doctors, plus her own distrust of hospitals in general, soon reached the point where she was losing both her patience and her temper. Perhaps it was a good thing she had lost her Slayer powers, or more than one doctor would have experienced some slayage up-close-and-personal over the next few hours.

With the hints she had already received, Buffy wasn't overly surprised to recognize one of the doctors who finally arrived a few hours after the marathon interrogation session began. It wasn't a face she was likely to ever forget. Dark skin, bald head, craggy face, expression just oozing sympathy if not a whole lot of competence. It was the quack who had messed with her mind when she was under the influence of the poison from the Glarghk G'uhl demon thingy. The memory of him telling her to kill her friends and family made her want to lash out in rage, but she was barely able to restrain herself by reminding herself that she would never get out of the hospital if she started attacking the doctors. Also, if this clown had been so idiotic as to give her such asinine medical advice before, chances were he was the weak link in the medical chain binding her to the institution she found herself in. Almost immediately she zeroed in on finding his weaknesses, flattering him, leading him on, manipulating him slowly but inexorably in the direction she wanted him to take them both.

Unlike the other doctors, he wasn't so discrete about her past, or overly concerned with 'contaminating her responses.' She made it clear she recognized him and the circumstances surrounding their previous meeting, which led him to talking about what she had told him of Sunnydale and her experiences there. Which turned out to be less than she had expected given his comments during the Glarghk fiasco. He knew about the Slayer, the vampires, and Glory. He even knew about the Nerds of Doom, although not about Willow going nuclear, or the First. After only a few hours Buffy had her plan of action on how to deal with the hospital staff. They already knew that she imagined herself to be a hero in a world with supernatural monsters, and they knew she had become increasingly disillusioned with that world. So she confined her story to what they knew, fleshed it out a bit, and made it clear that she now realized she not only wasn't a Slayer but had no reason or desire to become one, because it had become more of a burden than a blessing.

Since he story was pretty much in line with his own theory, and he was the physician of record, Dr. Vartan ensured that most of the staff was willing to accept her claims without much in the way of evidence. Others weren't so easy to convince, and she had to be more subtle in her manipulations, use a story closer to the truth. To them she would acknowledge her previous delusions, but also be clear that she knew she was in the real world now, with no way to get back even if she wanted to, which she didn't. Whatever reasons she had once had for wanting to be there no longer applied, as her job there was finished and it was time to get on with her life.

Buffy was young and cute, tiny and blonde. She had been able to manipulate men since she was in diapers. She wasn't a threat, she was obviously recovering from her horrific delusions, and within a few days she had most of the staff eating out of the palm of her hand. Not all of them, of course. For various reasons a few were not willing to buy into her miraculous recovery, and wanted to investigate what had gone wrong with her brain to cause her to lose contact with reality so drastically. More importantly, they wanted to figure out how she had been able to overcome the delusion and return to reality virtually overnight, without the use of drugs, so that others might be treated similarly.

There was no way Buffy was going to allow them to examine her in that sort of detail. She knew just enough about brain chemistry to scare her, and was adamantly opposed to letting anyone screw around with hers. Unfortunately it turned out that she was in the hospital for trying to burn down her high school gym while a dance was going on, which meant that she was not a patient but a ward of the state, almost a prisoner. Her rights were extremely limited. If they wanted to start messing around with her head there was very little Buffy could do to stop them. Which meant she had to bring in the heavy artillery: her mom.

Their first phone call after her 'recovery' had all the drama and tears of a Shakespearian tragedy. Buffy had been 15 years old the last time her mother had actually been able to talk to her. To Buffy, her mother had been dead for two full years. The chance to actually talk to each other, to discuss simple things like the weather and… well, the weather, was, to each of them, a source of more joy than winning a Power Ball lottery. After the hospital had notified her parents of her sudden recovery it would have taken armed troops to keep them away from her.

Their daily visits became the highlight of her new life. The best part of being in this world instead of back in Sunnydale was that her mom was still alive, and her parents were even still together. Because Buffy had been remanded to a psychiatric hospital by the courts when it became obvious to everyone that she was too mentally unbalanced to be tried in juvenile court over the attempted arson, her parents had only limited powers as well. But since she had been in the hospital far longer than she would have ever been incarcerated had she been convicted of the crime, the doctors were very leery about pushing the bounds of their authority too far outside of the limits Buffy set, particularly in the face of parental opposition. And Joyce Summers made it abundantly clear to all and sundry that she wasn't just opposed to further testing on her daughter, but that it would happen over her stone cold corpse.

Joyce didn't care why her daughter had suddenly awoken from her dream life. She didn't care how many other, similarly afflicted patients her daughter might save if the doctors could figure out which chemical switch had abruptly shifted. She hadn't seen her baby as a functioning human being in nearly six years and she wanted to make up for lost time. Nothing the girl might do to help other people could justify risking changes to her brain chemistry which might return her to her catatonic state. And if the doctors couldn't understand it, Joyce was more than prepared to bring in some heavy-duty lawyers to explain the situation to them.

To Joyce's surprise, although the threat of litigation intimidated the staff doctors, it didn't overly frighten the hospital hierarchy. The cultural and legalistic situation had changed radically since her daughter had been incarcerated. Had she tried to burn down a gym filled with students in today's world she would likely be charged with terrorism and sent to Guantanamo Bay, regardless of her mental state. The problem was that her attending physician wasn't overly committed to proceeding with the series of tests being recommended by the panel overseeing her treatment and progress. Legally that panel had final say over her treatment. But if anything went wrong, and the physician of record hadn't endorsed the treatment plan, the parents would be able to sue. For a lot. And Dr. Vartan had his own reasons for not wanting to face a court of inquiry into some of his treatment methods.

The panel was composed of six senior physicians, who weren't happy with the situation. They did not like surprises. They had nothing against the girl, in fact had barely given her a thought beyond ensuring that her attending physician was providing at least the minimum treatment mandated by the courts, but they also had larger issues to consider. The world had changed, and psychiatric matters had achieved a more prominent position within the plans of the higher echelons of government. Terrorism was a global issue of overwhelming priority, and anything that could provide insight into the terrorist mind –and especially anything that might provide methods of _probing_ the terrorist mind—was suddenly in high demand.

To them the Summers' child represented both an opportunity and a danger. They might want to study her as a person who fell under the umbrella of terrorist psychology, but she was also not just an American citizen but a minor, one who had parents who had made it clear they would not stand aside now that their daughter's condition had changed.

Any aspect of 'abnormal psychology' which could be investigated with the possibility that it might lead to better ways to interrogate or otherwise manipulate terrorists was of intense interest to the government. Institutions which satisfied those intense interests were almost certain to be richly rewarded by a grateful government with lavish research grants. But if anything went wrong –and when it concerned the brain, research of the type they wished to investigate all too often went _disastrously_ wrong— the lawsuit was likely to be long, painful, and _extremely_ expensive.

Three weeks after her reawakening, and under increasing pressure from the parents, the panel called a meeting with all involved parties to assess the situation and see if they could come to an agreement concerning further treatment options. The Summers' were not to bring their attorney, although they made it clear they had retained one. In turn neither did the hospital, although their senior representative had also consulted their lawyers before attending. For the first time since 'awakening' Buffy was permitted to wear casual street clothing. Her parents were in their Sunday best, the physicians wearing clinical gear. The meeting was supposed to be casual but emotions were intense, the stakes high for everyone.

Although supposed to be a discussion, all three Summers' were quickly made aware that it was more intended to explain the reasons the hospital intended to proceed with a program that the board had already determined. Nothing they could say would change their minds, and it was soon obvious that they wanted her parents to overreact, to make threats or otherwise act in ways that could be exploited should it come to trial. After a few hours of increasingly intense give and take, Buffy, who had sat back and let the parental units fight her battle, finally asked if she could have a few minutes of the Directors time, just the two of them.

They hadn't met before, but she knew the type. His arrogance and condescension didn't bother her. She was used to it. Used to being underestimated. After he quietly made it clear that the decision had been made, Buffy casually reminded him that much of her treatment was being paid for by her father's insurance, not the state. And the governors of that plan would not be happy to learn that she could have recovered a year earlier, had her physician not been retarded enough to tell her to murder all of her imaginary friends, which so far as she knew was contrary to all psychiatric logic.

Ordinarily that alone would have been enough to make them back down. Under normal circumstances no hospital admin in their right mind wanted to take on an insurance company. But the NID was willing to pay more than any insurance company, and research grants were enormously profitable. The Director was no longer so certain of his plan, but even though the insurance company would put them all through hell, he still felt that it would be worth it…

It was only then that he noticed the tiny girl, who had seemed so cute and powerless, was looking at him with a thin smile, her eyes hard enough to cut steel. Suddenly he was no longer quite so sure it would be a good idea to piss her off just to grab a few government grants. When she spoke, her voice was no longer sweet, but as threatening as that of the most dangerous offenders in the violent section of the asylum. "There is something else I'd have to bring up when the insurance company comes to investigate my treatment."

His name was Dangras, he worked in what was quite literally an insane asylum, and he had faced human monsters of all kinds. Few intimidated him. But there was something about this girl that creeped him out, a 'don't fuck with me' vibe that he rarely felt but knew better than to ignore. "And what issue is that, Miss Summers?"

Her voice was casual, not overtly threatening. He knew better. "I seem to have misplaced something since I arrived in this institution, Mr. Dangras."

He couldn't help but take a deep breath and clear his throat before responding. "And what is that, Miss Summers."

Her green eyes seemed suddenly inhumanly intense, the eyes of a predator, and he knew that he was really, really in for it. In that he was very, very correct.

"My virginity."


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

**Far Beyond Normal**

**Chapter Two**

The ride home was joyous, exuberant, and fascinating. Buffy hadn't lived in LA for years, but she remembered the main points of interest, and her parents took obvious delight in pointing out changes from those places she might remember. They had moved after their daughter took ill so soon reached a part of the city Buffy had never been to, and her mother kept up an excited, running commentary on the neighborhood, the people, and pointed out locations and shops of interest. Despite her tour-guide exuberance however, Buffy couldn't help but notice that the area was far more decrepit than where she recalled living in the Valley, and began to feel increasing guilt over the cost they had been forced to pay for their daughters' illness.

Intellectually she knew that she had no reason to feel guilty. It wasn't _her_ after all who had become sick, and even if it were, even if everything she remembered of Sunnydale had been nothing but the fevered dreams of her own active imagination, there was no reason to feel guilt over a mental illness that was beyond her control. But her parents had fallen a loooong way down the economic ladder in order to take care of their daughters' medical bills, virtually bankrupting themselves, and it hurt her to be the cause. The price they had paid was far less than that her own parents, in her Sunnydale reality, had been forced to pay when she was Called, but seeing the reality of their lost dreams and ambitions was a bitter pill after the excitement of her triumph over the forces of medical bureaucracy.

She hadn't told her parents what she had said to the Administrator to make him turn a quick 180 and authorize her immediate release to their custody. It would have bothered them far more than it bothered her –it wasn't _her_ that it had happened to, after all—and she was satisfied with the terms of the deal she had struck. As they got closer to her parents new home she was doubly adamant about not bothering them with the details. It would only anger them more, and it was becoming increasingly obvious to her that they had more than enough things to be unhappy about already.

Her father had been a pretty decent architect. Not brilliant, but competent, the sort of steadfast individual more artistic types hired to ensure their pie-in-the-sky designs were actually workable in the real world. Before she was Called, they had lived in an expensive house in the Valley, had plenty of money, and he had been able to pay for their house in Sunnydale as part of the divorce decree. Not in this world, however. So much of their combined incomes had gone to providing the ruinous expenses of her hospitalization that they had been forced to sell the fancy house and move to Burbank, into a townhouse, one of six family dwelling units sharing a subdivided frame, with several dozen just-slightly-different units spaced at 'random' around landscaped walkways within a prefab gated community.

It had no character, no individuality, and Buffy was uncomfortably aware of how hard it would have been for artistic-types like her parents to live in such sterile surroundings. Now that she was out of the hospital, and once the medical expenses had been paid off, they would be able to move out, probably with considerable relief and not a backwards glance. Buffy immediately detested the place, so went overboard in complimenting it, until her mother stopped her with just a gentle smile, a look of such understanding that only a mother could give, a look that said she knew what her daughter was trying to do, and agreed with it all, but things were the way they were and there was nothing they could do about it and they were dealing with it. The single glance, an almost psychic flash of understanding, was the most bonding moment they had shared since her awakening, and probably before that as well.

* * *

Hank Summers saw the look, and knew something had just passed between the two women, although he hadn't the slightest idea as to what it had been. He tried not to feel resentful, although he always experienced a flash of anger every time he came home to what he called their 'pod,' as the place most certainly didn't deserve the title of 'home.' By rights this should have been one of the greatest moments of his life, the almost-miraculous return of his beautiful daughter, recovering from a neurological disorder that _was not her fault_. He tried not to feel resentment over the ruinous costs he had been forced to pay over the past five years, the enormous financial burden that forced him to live here. This was _his little girl_, alive and well and _home_, and if it wasn't the home she remembered, well, she wasn't the girl _he_ remembered either.

That was the problem. The girl he remembered had never been able to communicate entire speeches with just a glance. Elizabeth had been a beautiful child, but she had been a typical Valley girl: pretty, blonde, vacuous, and definitely daddy's girl. She had been all about fashionable clothes, fast cars, cute boys, and sulking prettily every time she didn't get her way. Hank hadn't realized how much his memories of her had been frozen in time. Frozen from a time when she was fifteen years old, and the most trivial issues were a matter of life and death, a time when she took up figure skating simply because the outfit made her look prettier than anything else she could wear short of cheerleading. But that had been almost six years ago, and the girl he remembered had long since faded into history. He had barely been able to visit the hospital and witness the remote, flesh-and-blood robot who had once been his daughter. That _thing_ hadn't been _his_ Elizabeth; and the beautiful, quiet, controlled young woman accompanying his wife to their door… she wasn't either.

He despised himself for thinking such horrible thoughts. The young lady _was_ Elizabeth, grown up and matured into a woman any father would be proud to acknowledge. She was more mature, more intelligent, more caring, more observant, more _everything_ than the child he remembered. There was a poise to her, a self-confidence unexpected from a girl who had been in a hospital for so long. He couldn't help but notice the hard, quick glance she gave her surroundings, perhaps just checking out the neighborhood, but giving the impression of a soldier assessing locations of potential danger. She didn't act like a little girl; and she especially didn't act like _his_ little girl, the lovely child he remembered so vividly.

During the infrequent times he had been forced to visit her in the hospital, the doctors had tried to explain that Elizabeth had created a fantasy world, a world where magic existed and she was a hero, saving the local populace from the Forces of Evil. Somehow she had grown up in that world, created her own cast of friends and enemies, and interacted with them in a manner equivalent to the sort of social interaction that in the real world led to maturity. She had grown up there… and he hadn't been there to witness it, hadn't been a part of it.

They had told him that he hadn't been part of her pretend world. He had divorced Joyce in her world and rarely visited. One doctor had even suggested that the possibility of her parents getting a divorce in the real world had been among the root causes of the trauma that had caused Elizabeth to turn her back on reality. But Hank didn't give much credence to that theory. In the unique environment of southern California in the early '90's divorce wasn't a trauma, it was practically an expected part of life. Most of her friends had been from 'broken' homes, and although the fights and raised voices which had already indicated that their marriage was in trouble would have bothered her in a general way, it wasn't something that Elizabeth would have considered anything but part of growing up in the Valley. It was a know commodity; unfortunate, but an accepted part of life. The problem, from his perspective, wasn't that she thought her parents were about to get a divorce, but that in her fantasy world she had apparently put the blame for it squarely on _his_ shoulders.

As he followed the two women into their house, their closeness and obvious bonding… troubled him. He knew he was jealous, knew he was being unfair, but _he_ had always been the favored parent. It was _him_ that Elizabeth had come to whenever she wanted anything. There was nothing she couldn't talk him into by sitting on his lap, looking at him with her huge, puppy-dog eyes. Whether it was new clothes, or expensive toys, or being allowed to stay out late for an important party, it was always _daddy_ she came to for permission because she knew she had him wrapped around her finger, and had since she was a toddler. Mom was the disciplinarian, as much as either of them had been, but Elizabeth had been daddy's little girl and he would have done anything for her.

Joining them for the tour of the house, he couldn't help but notice the new-found closeness between his wife and daughter, the maturity of their conversation, and how little he was invited to participate in it. He had sacrificed everything for his little girl; his wealth, his career, his aspirations and dreams… and he felt that she was blaming him for a divorce that hadn't even happened in the real world. Yet.

* * *

As the weeks after her release turned into months, the situation at home got better. She had her own room, the childish furnishings tossed out and replaced with less expensive but more sophisticated items they picked up during frequent shopping expeditions, the formidable bargain hunting skills demonstrated by their daughter a constant source of surprise to both parents. Their daughter Elizabeth.

Elizabeth, who was their daughter.

Staring at the name she had just written on the paper before her, Buf…. _Elizabeth_ reminded herself of her own name for the billionth time. It was a mantra she had started right after moving in. It made things easier for everyone. 'Buffy' was a reminder of things her parents didn't want to think about. Things _she_ didn't want to think about, truth be told. _Elizabeth_ hadn't been a Slayer. _Elizabeth_ didn't have a sister, or friends who were presently being jerked around by a monster who wore her face. On the other hand, Elizabeth didn't have a calling that demanded she fight to the death each night, or have any responsibilities, or worry about having enough money to put food on the table. Elizabeth was loved, and pampered and protected, and…

"And was the single most boring person on the face of the earth." Guiltily looking around to see if anyone had overheard the muttered comment, Buf… _Elizabeth, dammit!_—tried to suppress the evil thought. She knew she was being idiotic. Four months had passed since her release, and she hadn't been able to find a shred of evidence that Sunnydale had ever been real, or come up with the slightest plan for getting back, or of being able to accomplish anything useful should she ever discover a way to get there. Pretty much everything about her present life was better than it had been back in Sunnydale. It would be smart to accept the situation, to make the best of things, to get on with her life. Or so she assured the doctors she was required to meet with every week. Elizabeth Summers was doing the _smart_ thing: getting on with her life.

In many ways it was even true. She had never _wanted_ to be a Slayer, never _wanted_ the crushing responsibilities of saving the world from the Forces of Evil, never _wanted_ a sister who depended on her for protection from the powerful entities who sought to exploit her potential power. This new world was a chance to begin again, to live a normal life, and should have been a dream come true for someone who had never sought out power or had grandiose personal ambitions. This was everything she had been telling herself for years she truly wanted, but now that she had it…

"It sucks." This time the muttered comment was overheard by people sitting at desks all around her, and heads popped up behind dividers like groundhogs from their burrows to glare at her for creating the disturbance, or to agree with the sentiment. She was by far the youngest person in the room where they had been writing their high school equivalency tests for nearly three hours now. Given how young she looked, and her tiny stature, the few who cared to speculate probably wondered why she hadn't simply returned to school to get her diploma the old fashioned way. Despite some claims to the contrary, most post-secondary institutions did _not_ consider a GED to be the equivalent of a high school diploma. The answer she might have given would have been emphatic. In this world, Elizabeth Summers hadn't even graduated grade 10. There was no way she could stomach the thought of retaking three years of high school.

In principle it should have been easy. She _had_ graduated high school, after all, and did have the better part of a semester of university behind her. Her slightly smug recollection of scoring 1430 on the SAT's back in Sunnydale made her confident that she could ace the test and skip on three years of otherwise necessary null time. But it turned out that her spectacular score on the SAT wasn't a sign of her own hidden genius. Unfortunately she didn't discover that until confidently insisting to her parents and her doctors that she could do it, and by then she felt compelled not to back down.

She had prepared hard for the test, and quickly figured out not only where her academic weaknesses lay, but how she had scored so well on the SAT. It turned out the Slayer part of her had some talents the Watchers either didn't realize or didn't tell her about. The Slayer was a low-level demon, mystically bound to the Chosen One in a symbiotic relationship. The Slayer provided the power, and the girl provided both physicality and intelligence. In its own realm the Slayer demon was an easy target for it's far more powerful brethren; but when guided by human-level intelligence it was suddenly far more likely to have a shot at surviving. Humans were good at thinking ahead, at working together, and were able to defer satisfying immediate wants in order to meet long term goals. The demon provided the Chosen One with serious, supernatural muscle. The human provided a functioning brain. Both provided survival advantages to each other.

The demon wasn't very bright, was in fact only barely self-aware. But its instinctive survival traits conferred special talents on the Slayer. The demons instincts were why she could handle almost any weapon with supernatural skill, even without training. Its instincts were the reason she could recognize evolving tactical situations without thinking them through consciously. And, of far less importance, when Buffy wrote the SAT she had simply 'guessed' on many of the math questions, but although she couldn't consciously work out the right answer, she had subconsciously absorbed the underlying rules, and the Slayer part of her had instinctively used that knowledge to come up with the right answer the same way it would know which of six attackers had to be taken out first in a combat situation.

Being able to 'guess' right on multiple choice SAT math questions would probably not go down as one of the better incentives for becoming a Slayer, and in the here-and-now it didn't matter because she wasn't one. She had to work out the problems by hand, the way everyone else did, this time around. Her parents had been astonished at how seriously she had prepared for the exam, how much time and effort she had been willing to dedicate to a project that involved academics. They remembered a young girl who never studied, never cared about her grades, never read a book or opened a newspaper. It was just one more of a long list of personality changes they had to adjust to. It was hard on all of them. Especially her father. Bu…Elizabeth had tried to brush all the changes aside by reminding them all that she was no longer 15 years old, but would soon be 21.

Writing down the answer to the next question on the test, Bu… hell, she was going to rename herself 'Bulizabeth', it would be easier… frowned at her age. She had been to demon dimensions before so understood that time could move at a different rate in a different universe, but the timeline in this one was even weirder than usual. She remembered awakening in the asylum in this dimension after she was poisoned by the Glarghk demon thingie, but that had been more than two years earlier in the Sunnydale timeline. According to the history here it had happened less than a year ago. It was like the timelines had been proceeding equally until recently, when something had caused them to diverge radically. She hadn't asked who had been President during her previous appearance in this reality, but presently it was a different guy than she remembered being in office back in Sunnydale. Attitudes were different. _People_ were different.

She really, _really_, wished there was someone she could talk to about these things. She had gone so far as to look up Giles and Willow online, although she hadn't had the nerve to contact either. Neither were doing anything that might make them receptive to maintaining contact with a stranger requesting a study-buddy to help prepare her for writing her GED, plus, oh, not to mention discussing the theory and practical application of diverging timelines within alternate dimensions. In this world Giles was still working at the British Museum as a senior curator, and Willow was already working on her PhD at MIT. Doing quite well at it too. The number of hits on citations for her work in Google had been pretty impressive, given her age.

Her biography had been intimidating. Willow had graduated high school in two years, completed her undergrad work at USC by the time she was 19, and received her Masters less than a year later. At first Bulizabeth had been horrified at what her presence in Willow's life had meant; it appeared that she had held her friend back from fulfilling what was almost certain to be an incredible destiny. But then she saw a recent picture: long, straight hair, deer-in-the-headlights eyes, looking shyer, nerdier, and more anti-social than even the girl Buffy met when she first arrived in Sunnydale all those years ago. Even knowing the trauma of her last few years leading up to the appearance of the First, Bulizabeth would have bet serious money that given a choice, Willow would have lived the life she had known in Sunnydale rather than the exclusively academic existence she was enduring in this reality. Whatever trauma she had endured, whatever losses she had just barely survived, at least _that_ Willow had _lived._

Buffy had always known that she had taken advantage of Willow's friendship, exploiting her formidable intelligence and skills. But it was in a good cause, and in return she had provided Willow with her own not-inconsiderable skills and guidance in social interaction. She had provided Willow with a reason to get out of the house, to put down the books and meet with people. With that had inevitably come pain. But she doubted that Willow would have ever traded the pain of losing Tara for the emotional emptiness of never having known her.

The next few questions were harder. She had answered all the easy ones first, and what was left made her increasingly regret not taking the chance at initiating contact with Willow just for the remembered voice of encouragement, the wise council of someone who had all the academic answers. There was no one in this world who could take the place of Willow in the other one, no close friend, no confidant, no one whose skills could be exploited because she was returning the favor in other areas.

A few acquaintances from her Hemery High School days had shown up to witness at her Lazarus-like return to the land of the living, but she barely even remembered them. Even a quick visit was enough to discover that whatever they might once have held in common, it had long since passed. Few bothered to return for a second time. The Elizabeth they remembered might as well be dead; seven hard, long years as a Slayer having transformed her beyond recognition. The change was too much for her old friends, some of whom hadn't changed at all, and none of whom found much in common with the stranger who wore a more-mature looking face of a friend they had lost a long time ago. Even if there had been any remaining connection, none of them would have made a good study-buddy anyway.

Studying for the GED had occupied spare time that was suddenly available due to a nonexistent social life. Wasting all that effort because she couldn't keep her mind on the job would have been inexcusable. Disciplining her wandering mind, Bulizabeth returned to the paper before her, wishing she had the Slayer back to help her guess the right answers. And for many other reasons as well.


	4. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

**Far Beyond Normal**

**Chapter Three**

Having a corporate picnic was an idiotic idea, something only the left-wing nutbars in Commie-fornia would appreciate. Gregory Denneck was not a big fan of the most populous state in the union, or its retarded politics and institutions. Unfortunately he owned a company with branches out on the left coast, he was there checking out the books when the damned picnic was scheduled, and he couldn't really get out of attending without coming across at a total prick. Which he proudly was, but there was no reason to rub people's noses in it, even when they were Godless fornicating left-coast heathens. Naturally he was also footing the bill for the entire fugging thing, which didn't do a whole lot to improve his appreciation for the event. The only potential item of interest it held for him would be the first appearance of the Summers' spawn, the psycho terrorist chick who had been soaking up about half of the entire insurance premiums of the entire LA branch for a big chunk of the past decade.

It really burned his ass that one whacked-out nutcase should cause his premiums to skyrocket, and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it due to the stupid socialist corporate regulations out here in Commie-fornia. It wasn't _his_ fault the hose-beast had gone mental, and paying for her 'treatment' shouldn't have been his responsibility either. He'd tried to make Summers quit, but there were strict legal limits to how far he could go in encouraging the guy to move elsewhere before it would be considered 'harassment' and cost him far more in court than it would save by getting rid of the dead weight his loony runt imposed on the corporate bottom line.

What also burned his ass was that he had yet to see any so-called 'psychiatrist' cure anyone of anything. It would have been cheaper and probably just as effective to get the bitch an exorcism! It was ridiculous that a proudly secular –hell, openly _sacrilegious_!—state like Commie-fornia didn't take its proudly Darwinian ethos to its logical extreme, and put the genetically-defective out of their misery before they could procreate and dilute the gene pool. They had no problem slaughtering the unborn --whom were innocent-- in untold millions, but they lacked the courage of their own convictions when it came to those who had demonstrated their unfitness for survival, and whose removal from their own miserable existence would not incidentally have saved him some serious coin in terms of insurance costs.

But somehow a miracle had occurred –even the shrinks, who couldn't cure a damned thing, acknowledged that it must have been the Divine intervention of the Almighty God who had truly returned the girl to lucidity—and she was out of hospital and soon would be out of his hair. Considering what she had cost him over the previous six years –not just the direct costs, but the impact on his bottom line, which affected stock market value—he figured he'd take the opportunity to inspect the broad at least once. Obviously a lot of other people felt the same way, because pretty much everyone from the Burbank office, and even from some of the branches, had showed up for the picnic. He would have gone seriously nuclear if, after all that, the Summers clan hadn't bothered to put in an appearance, but finally there was a subtle excitement in the gathered throng as it was whispered that Hank's Chevrolet had been spotted pulling into the parking lot.

The girl was a surprise. She was definitely a looker. Tiny, blonde, seemingly shy or maybe just nervous; she was gorgeous. Everyone was watching her, although in deference to her condition the crowd tried not to swarm too close. Hank first introduced her to his friends, and Denneck was reminded that he had a lot of them, which had been another reason not to fire the man. She certainly didn't act like a zombie, or even like he would have expected of someone just awakened from what had been effectively a five-year-long coma. Her walk was confident, her eyes unafraid to meet those of anyone she was introduced to. Whatever he was expecting, she wasn't it.

After about a half hour of introductions and well-wishes they finally arrived at the barbeque where Denneck stood flipping burgers. Hank looked nervous, and the wife was making a serious effort not to show any expression, as introductions were made. The spawn looked up at him –Denneck was more than a foot taller than she was—meeting his eyes, manifestly unafraid. "So you're the little lady who has cost me so much money."

It probably wasn't the most diplomatic statement ever made, but she intrigued him, and he wanted to see how she would react. She did not disappoint. Her eyes –a lovely hazel, almost green color—hardened, but otherwise she appeared more amused than upset. "Gotta love them labor laws."

Oh, she was good! He smiled thinly, impressed by how quickly she had zeroed in not only on his meaning, but his weakness. It amazed him that Hank Summers, an ass-kissing schmoozer of legendary renown, had spawned a pretty, tough bitch like this one. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see ole' Hank fidgeting nervously, but the daughter wasn't backing down an inch. How someone could spend nearly six years in a loony bin and come out like her was a question he would have to explore further. She wasn't in the slightest bit impressed with his position, his wealth, or his size. All aspects of psychological dominance he brought to bear simply bounced off her like a gentle breeze, perceived but ignored. After five seconds in her presence, Denneck knew that this kid already had balls ten times the size good ole' Hank would ever grow.

"So what are your plans now that you're out of my hair?"

She just smiled at him, a pretty smile showing the usual results of Commie-fornia dental skill, but her eyes were still hard as emerald. "Wealth. Fame. Happiness. Whatever."

He tried to keep his eyes just as hard, but she amused him. Denneck was 54 years old, had been married four times, would be ditching the most recent Mrs. Denneck once the lawyers figured out how to keep the bitch from soaking him. Under other circumstances he'd be considering this one for the position of Mrs. Denneck Number Five, if only for the pleasure of breaking her to his will. "Heard you did pretty good on the GED. Fairly impressive considering you've been vegetating with the other loons for so long."

Yup, she was finding him amusing too. But not in a 'flirting with a wealthy not-unattractive older man' way, but in a 'screw you, loser; I'm pretty and tiny and will leech onto someone much younger and easier to manipulate than you' manner. "Isn't it amazing how much you can learn just by reading 'Passing the GED for Dummies' manual?" Her amusement was growing just as Denneck was rapidly losing his patience. She owed him gratitude, or at least respect, and he did not like it when people who hadn't accomplished anything in their pathetic lives treated him with distain. She seemed to realize that he was getting angry, and pulled back a bit, not out of fear but simply because she didn't think causing a scene was worth the price of having to back down a little. "The doctors are suggesting that I assimilated a lot of information just by overhearing random conversations going on around me. That would explain why my skill set is somewhat… eclectic." She turned to her mother, who was watching them, showing a bit of nervousness. "I think I'd like a hamburger. Did you want one?"

All of them were aware she was trying to diffuse a situation that had escalated beyond what had been intended by any of them. Denneck knew he had an issue with his ego, and privately would bet heavy money that so did little Miss High and Mighty. But he was a businessman, his livelihood depended on knowing when to push and when to give way, and he could already read what the headlines would say if he lost it with the tiny, pretty, just-recovered nut case standing before him, at a social function, when she was willing to back off. So he just gave her a hard look, and with an obviously-insincere half-smile, passed out the grub. But he would remember her, and intended to have his people investigate further. There was just something a bit too far off kilter with this girl, something that just didn't ring true. He wanted to know what it was.

* * *

Hank was furious. "What the _hell_ was that all about!" The past few months had been increasingly stressful for him. His marriage was rapidly deteriorating. Fights were now a daily occurrence, and Hank got the feeling that his daughter was standing firmly in Joyce's corner. He tried to explain things to her, tried to rebuild some of the warmth that he remembered of their relationship, but Elizabeth had changed so very much. She was closed off to him, he couldn't tell what she was thinking most of the time, and it seemed that everything he did to try to win her over only pushed her further away.

The fault lines in his marriage, obvious for years, had widened into gaping chasms as neither could use their shared concern for their daughter as an excuse to paper over the growing strains. Instead of completing their family, Elizabeth's return, so long and euphorically imagined, had instead exposed growing differences in attitude and ambition. Joyce wanted to open her own antique shop, no longer willing to work under a boss she had cordially despised for years. Elizabeth was legally obligated to remain in their custody until she turned 21, but that was less than a month away now, and she had started giving strong hints that she wanted to move out afterwards, to live on her own.

Her independence frustrated Hank as much as it bothered him. Elizabeth had _always_ gone for the easy route, had always been the type to seek out someone to take care of her. She didn't like to be on her own, she didn't like to work. She wanted pretty things, and someone to reassure her that she was even prettier than the prettiest thing bought for her. The doctors had tried to explain that the radical personality change in his daughter were due to a change in brain chemistry, a direct result of her mental illness. The change wasn't just due to a difference in age, but was, at least in part, due to a permanent physical change in the brain itself. He would simply have to adapt to it, because the change was almost certainly permanent, and there was nothing anybody could do about it.

He was finding it increasingly difficult to 'adapt,' because the truth was, he didn't _like_ the new Elizabeth. She was too tough, too sarcastic, too independent. So much of what he remembered loving most about his daughter was no longer a _part_ of his daughter. She worked out continually, running miles in the morning, working out in the evenings on some kind of martial arts she appeared to have invented herself, in a gymnasium she had set up in the basement. She _studied_, and spent hours a day on the computer, demonstrating unexpected skills at covering her tracks, never once forgetting to delete any traces of the sites she had explored on the internet.

The longer it went on, the more Hank got to feeling like that Donald Sutherland character in that movie, the one where everyone he knew was slowly being replaced by pod people. Except that _Joyce_ certainly didn't feel the same way. To her, Elizabeth was turning into the daughter she had always dreamed about; her best friend, her confidant, someone whose opinion she valued and whose judgment she trusted. One day, while they were out shopping, Elizabeth had suddenly hauled her mother into the office of a neurologist which they just happened to be passing by. Demanding that they examine her mother, and demonstrating a frightening degree of expert knowledge in the subject of aneurysms, she had through sheer force of will compelled the doctor to examine her, and her mother to subject herself to the examination.

An embarrassed Joyce had explained that her daughter had recently recovered from a long mental illness and it would be best just to placate her concerns. To everyone's surprise it hadn't taken long for them to find something wrong. Elizabeth had told them exactly where to look, and it was exactly where she said it would be. Discovered so early the small clot was almost certainly treatable, but the neurologists had naturally been more interested in how Elizabeth had known about it than in the blockage, which they were confident they could handle. It certainly didn't represent nearly the challenge of explaining how her daughter had known that it existed in the first place. There were other reported instances of mental patients 'knowing' about such potentially fatal issues, particularly when it involved a loved one, and everyone could smell 'research paper.' The daughter, unfortunately, wasn't excessively forthcoming on the source of her knowledge.

The inevitable result was their already close relationship became even closer. Joyce was certain that her daughter had come back specifically to save her life.

Hank was just as grateful. He really was! But it was becoming really _hard_ for him to witness the steady evolution of _their_ relationship, when _his_ were falling apart at the seams. The only thing he had left was his job, and hopefully even the career he had put on hold to accommodate the needs of his sick daughter, but she had come back and instead of the slightest hint of gratitude she had gone out of her way to anger his boss!

When he looked at his daughter, temper barely held in check by the thinnest of threads, he saw the same expression he had seen a million times since she came back, the one that was driving him up the fucking wall. It was cold, assessing; the way a predator watched something it was still deciding whether to call prey. The way a Pod Person looked at a potential host for another of her kind. "He was being a jerk."

"He's the boss. He's _allowed_ to be a jerk."

She just shrugged, and Hank understood exactly what it was about her that had set off Denneck. There was an arrogance about her, a self-confidence unexpected and certainly _undeserved_ given her history. Others might write it off as simply the self-absorbed conceit of a beautiful young woman, but Hank had known his daughter too long to accept such an explanation. He remembered her from before, when she could be described by a dispassionate observer as a vacuous, conceited airhead. A Valley Girl. Cute and perky, but obsessed with shopping, her image, and not much else. The change was too much to be casually dismissed with a blithe explanation of 'brain chemistry.' _This wasn't Elizabeth!_ This person, this beautiful young woman who used to be his daughter, this was someone else, someone strong, and arrogant, and self-absorbed, someone…

…someone named 'Buffy.'

He remembered the delirium. The doctors accounts of her imaginary world, where she was a superhero name 'Buffy' –surely the most idiotic name for a 'superhero' ever imagined—who fought vampires. Who saved the world. Who had ample reason to feel superior to other people, because physically she _was_ better than other people. He remembered the few times she had come out of her delirious state, if only for a few days, but still thought she was this 'Buffy' person, trapped in a different world. He remembered when she came back for good, now more than five months before, when they went to visit her, how surprised she had been to be called 'Elizabeth.'

It was something he could no longer ignore. This person, this cold, calculating, _strong_ young woman, was _not_ Elizabeth Summers, returned from a mental hell. This was _Buffy_ Summers, Vampire Slayer, taking over a body which didn't belong to her, _possessing_ his daughter like one of the supernatural monsters she once fought.

The question was; what could he do about it? Who could he even talk to who would understand the situation? The first person he thought of who might actually help with was his new friend Mr. Denneck.


	5. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

**Far Beyond Normal**

**Chapter Four**

The dinner had been wonderful, the company even better. Everyone had been on their very best behavior, and nobody had even mentioned the metaphorical elephant in the room. Appropriately enough there were real ones however, wooden once, carved from teak, which decorated the Thai restaurant. Ostensibly the dinner was to celebrate Elizabeth's upcoming birthday, the moment she would be free of anyone else's authority, her police record purged. While still a few days away, this day would be six months exactly since the day she 'awoke,' and that was reason enough to celebrate.

The elephant everyone was very careful not to bring up was the fact that it would almost certainly be the last time they would ever be together as a family. Elizabeth had already found an apartment she would be moving into once she was no longer required to live under parental supervision. Neither of her parents had made much of an effort to talk her out of leaving. Her mother constantly assured her that she was more than welcome to stay, but had accompanied her on her apartment-hunting expeditions, subtly but obviously making certain that not only would her daughter pick a place that was safe, but it was somewhere big enough that she herself would be able to move in temporarily if what she expected to happen once Elizabeth moved out, inevitably happened.

The two had grown close enough that Joyce had confided the obvious; that her marriage was in trouble. The best she could hope for was that once their daughter was away from home she and Hank might have a chance to work out their problems. She didn't say it with any confidence, and her daughter didn't offer platitudes of encouragement. Both strongly suspected that the relationship was beyond salvage. Hank's recent cruelty to his daughter was only making an already-bad situation even worse.

What had seemed like a minor altercation at the company picnic had come to assume huge proportions in Hank's eyes. Joyce hadn't realized her husband and Denneck had become such good friends, or that his daughter not kowtowing to his boss would be considered such an enormous insult. In the two weeks since the picnic Hank had met with Denneck in private at least five times, often until late in the evening. He never talked about what they discussed… but he had begun to call his daughter 'Buffy.'

Joyce could tell that her daughter was troubled by the change in address. At first she hadn't thought much of it, as they had called their daughter Buffy when she was a toddler, until as an indignant five year old she demanded to be called by her 'real' name, since her best friend Mary had said 'Buffy' was a dumb name used by dumb girls. But Hank was using the name to cause pain, almost as an accusation, and for some reason her daughter was troubled by it. Joyce knew that Elizabeth had tried to talk to him about it, but wasn't party to the discussion. All she knew was the result; the girl had cried that night, and had been distant from Hank ever since. Even more distant than she had been.

Joyce had tried to get both to talk about it, but Hank had been coldly dismissive, and Elizabeth had simply shrugged it off. The emotional barriers Elizabeth had been able to bring up since her return were almost frightening; she recalled her daughter turning into a basket case every time she broke up with a boyfriend, argued with a friend, or saw a hurt puppy. Somewhere along the line the girl had learned how to protect her vulnerable heart, and she was already building emotional distance from a father who, for whatever reason, now seemed to hate her.

Of all the stupid things Hank had done over the years, Joyce felt that what he had done to his daughter for the past few days was the worst. He had more or less implied that 'Buffy' was the cause of his marriage failing. He had blamed 'Buffy' for taking his daughter away from him. He had called her a monster, until a raging Joyce had screamed at him in a tirade which was almost certainly that final, proverbial straw. The only 'good' part of it –if such a horrible situation could have a 'good' side—was that her daughter seemed to be dealing with it. Dealing with it with a maturity, an adult understanding of the whole sorry situation, which awed her mother. She was once again filled with a sense of joy, of almost religious gratitude, at the return of her wonderful, mature, responsible, and most especially her _sane_ daughter.

* * *

Buffy squirmed in her seat, the wonderful food tasting like ashes. She just knew she was going to get an ulcer for swallowing so much bile the past two weeks. Ever since Hank got a bug up his ass over her not sucking up to his boss, the guy had been acting like a complete dickhead. The only problem was, he was absolutely right in his accusations, and had every right to be pissed off about it.

She couldn't kid herself with the 'Bulizabeth' crap anymore. She _was_ Buffy Summers in her own mind, and technically she _was_ an invader occupying Elizabeth's body. Personally she felt that as an 'alternate universe' representative of the same person she did have some squatters rights, especially since Elizabeth had so obviously gone on Walkabout somewhere. But fundamentally she couldn't argue with Hank's angry accusation that she wasn't really _his_ daughter.

There were feelings of both gratitude and guilt that her mother wasn't buying into any of Hank's whining. _She_ accepted that the person currently occupying her daughter's body, who answered to her daughter's name, and who remembered growing up as her daughter _was_, in fact and in truth, her daughter. On the face of it, Hank's claims of 'possession' were idiotic, when there were perfectly legitimate explanations for every accusation he brought up. The problem with that was _Buffy_ knew he was right, and she felt guilty as hell about it.

So she had swallowed her anger, accepted his snide comments, cracks, and accusations with a surface equanimity that belied her underlying rage, and wished like hell she knew what to do about the situation. She understood his anger, but the fact remained that in a manner of speaking she _was_ his daughter as well, and he didn't have to be such a prick about it. Because she didn't really feel like she was 'really' an interloper, possessing someone else's body like a ghoul. What had happened wasn't like the time when she had traded bodies with Faith. From what she recalled of that experience, the physical differences between their bodies had been obvious, and awkward to the point of constant mid-level discomfort. The only difference between this body and her old one was the whole 'Slayer' factor.

In principle, if Elizabeth wanted the body back, then okay, Buffy had to agree that she pretty much had the right of first possession. But Buffy was fairly certain Elizabeth was _gone_. Whatever had happened to her, whatever psychic talent had enabled her to tap into Buffy's life, had in the end destroyed her. She was either dead, or had become so perfectly connected to Buffy that she had effectively 'become' Buffy once the real Buffy died. That was her working hypothesis anyway, and either way it meant that no matter what Hank wanted, he would have to deal with the fact that the daughter he remembered was _not_ coming back. But Hank was not real good at 'dealing' with things he didn't want to 'deal' with.

One thing which had become ever more clear during the past two weeks was that Buffy herself hadn't been 'dealing' with her lost Slayer powers as well as she had once thought either. It was her attitude, the whole 'baddass Slayer' vibe, that had triggered Hank onto the fact that someone new had moved into the previously-vacant body which had once housed his daughter. For years Buffy had always sort of considered the Slayer to be outside of herself, a demon power she called upon at need. But she was discovering, somewhat to her surprise, that in reality, _she_ was the Slayer, and the demon part was just the turbocharged battery which allowed her to do her thing. And one benefit of having that battery was the ability to vent her frustrations by going out and beating the living –well, _undead_—crap out of someone who needed it when she felt the need to let off a little steam. And gawd only knew, she desperately needed to let off some steam about now.

Even after six months, not a day passed when she didn't regret not having her Slayer powers. Which was amusing, in a not-funny way, when she recalled how often she had bitterly regretted being Called, had blamed every crappy thing that went wrong in her crappy life on being the Slayer, and had wished she could return to the romanticized world of her childhood dreams. What she had discovered over the past six months was that childhood inevitably ended, even for those who weren't Called, and Real Life sucked just as bad for those who weren't Slayers.

And you couldn't even deal with your personal 'issues' by pounding the bones of your enemies into powder with a sledge hammer.

In a weird way, it was Hank calling her 'Buffy' which had brought everything together in her own head. It had suddenly dawned on her that she really _was_ the person she had become. No matter how much she hoped to 'change,' hoped to 'grow,' the sad reality was that she was who she was, just like everyone else. Maybe that discovery hadn't been especially profound _per se_, but it was very profound _to her_. Somehow she had gotten it in her head that if circumstances had been different, then her life would have been different, somehow better, and she would somehow have been happier. If nothing else, the past six months had shown her pretty clearly that this was not necessarily the case. She had never bothered to consider the fact that _everyone_ experienced disappointments in their life, and everyone had to deal with them according to their own strengths. And some people, such as Hank, weren't able to deal with them all that well.

Buffy knew full well that some of the choices she had made back in Sunnydale hadn't gone over well with her friends. But those decisions had been hers to make, and it had been her right to make them for herself. Buffy knew that people had liked her better when she was younger, when she was naïve and cute and innocent, but she was no longer that person. It was a question of growing up, of evolving based on her life experiences, and it was a normal part of becoming an adult. Because of the way her life had gone in this world the change had been too dramatic, too startling, for most of the people she knew here to adjust. Even back in Sunnydale the changes she had undergone, especially during the two years after Willow brought her back from the dead, had been too much for some of her friends to accept. But if they wanted to remain her friends they had had to adjust, just as she had been forced to adapt to the way her friends had changed over the years. Because the choices they had each made had been _theirs_ to make as well.

Although she felt a bit guilty over taking his daughter's place, Buffy refused to apologize to Hank for having grown up. It was kind of amusing, in a _really_-not-funny way, how much more her mother liked her as an adult, while people who, like Hank, who hadn't really grown up himself, resented the fact that she had. Buffy knew she was in danger of romanticizing her life as the Slayer, remembering the best parts and ignoring how much of it had majorly sucked, but if nothing else was true it could not be denied that her life as the Slayer had been _interesting_, had provided such a mind-boggling abundance of experiences that she had truly _lived_ more in a year than most people did throughout their entire lives. Under those conditions change had been inevitable, and if she regretted some of the choices she had made, Buffy no longer regretted the experiences which had made such choices possible. She _missed_ being the toughest kid on the block. She _missed_ not having to take any crap from anybody. She missed being _strong_. Because if the past six months had showed her anything, it had showed that her personality required the strength to back up her attitude.

In a strange way she was grateful to Hank for forcing her to look at herself, to examine her own life and history and accept herself for who she had become. It was him calling her 'Buffy' which had finally made her realize that she truly _was_ Buffy, that she _wanted_ to be Buffy, and that she didn't want to be Elizabeth or Joan or anyone else. Even if she never regained the powers of a Slayer she would always be, in her own mind, Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It had taken a long time, and dying three times, before she figured out who she was, but having come to that conclusion Buffy was comfortable with it. And nothing Hank could say during the dinner made her regret reaching that decision.

Fortunately the food had been wonderful; her mother an expert at filling in the awkward silences, so the evening wasn't a complete disaster. Even Hank hadn't been as much an asshole as he had been recently, perhaps realizing that there was very little likelihood of them ever again holding a similar celebration as a family, the unmentioned but understood finality of the event holding his bitterness temporarily at bay. He didn't even complain at the not-inconsiderable cost of the dinner, perhaps realizing how much his discretionary income was about to increase with the loss of not just his daughter's medical expenses, but now her living costs as well.

When they left the restaurant they were all quiet, all of them affected by the sense of loss, of a door closing on one chapter of their lives. Perhaps their mood was affected by their surroundings, the darkness of the late evening, the obvious physical deterioration of the neighborhood. It was an almost post-apocalyptic scene of rampant graffiti and broken windows, garbage strewn about, broken street lights or naked incandescent bulbs casting long shadows. Buffy remembered going to that same restaurant many years before, and was astonished by the change. She felt sorrier for the hard-working couple trying to maintain their livelihood in the face of encroaching social decay than she did for the petty whininess of Hank's subtle digs.

He hadn't been willing to park his car, a fancy Chevy SUV he couldn't really afford but felt was needed in order to meet the expectations of his clients, close to the restaurant. Which meant that they had to walk through the troubled neighborhood back to the vehicle, risking their own safety over any possible risk to the car. It didn't make a whole lot of sense to Buffy, but it was just one other thing that wasn't worth arguing about, so she swallowed her comments, as she had so many others, and walked with them back to the well-lit parking area.

The attack came without warning, Buffy's only-human senses detecting nothing from the depths of the darkened alley before the muggers were on top of them, four of them, armed with clubs and chains and on top of them before anyone in the family could react. Even without her powers Buffy was far more prepared for violence than her parents, and was also aided by the fact that only the smallest of the attackers went for her, the others more interested in subduing the larger, and presumably more dangerous, adults.

He wasn't conscious long enough to be surprised at her swift, devastatingly effective response. Since her awakening Buffy had gone to considerable efforts at training her body. At first it was difficult, seven years of martial arts training had to be 'unlearned' since her body could no longer perform actions which were possible only by a body enhanced with the power of the Slayer. The _kata_ she had performed every day since being Called had been perfected over the centuries, distilled from a hundred fighting techniques, calibrated to be able to tax even the strength, stamina, balance, and a hundred other physical advantages endowed to the Slayer. Since she no longer _was_ the Slayer it had taken Buffy considerable time and failed testing before she was able to come up with a modified training regime which was not only physically possible for her now merely-human body to perform, but was effective enough to be worth the effort.

The first test of her techniques in a real world situation was an unadulterated success. Fist to the throat, knee to the balls, a quick turn and swiftly-moving foot to the face, had her attacker down and out within the first few seconds of the attack. But then there was a fifth attacker, larger even than the others, armed with a chain wrapped around his massive fist, and no amount of training was going to be able to overcome his size and strength advantages when he came in prepared to face her martial skills.

Buffy could hear her surprised grunts coming from her father as he was roughly shoved aside, could hear the frightened rage in the screams coming from her mother. But she had no time to come to their aid as the huge thug came after her, street-wise and tough enough to accept a bit of pain if that was what it took to subdue a recalcitrant victim. Despite her training and experience, Buffy was a tiny girl, standing less than three inches over five feet tall, and still weighing in at almost exactly a hundred pounds. Despite what television might suggest, no amount of skill was going to overcome such an overwhelming mass disadvantage when facing a prepared opponent.

Not that she didn't give it her best shot. She went for his knee, and was fast enough and athletic enough to dodge the ham-sized, chain-wrapped fist that he brought down to protect himself. The blow that landed wasn't even close to being disabling as she had to twist her body at the last possible instant to escape the counter attack. Breathing in huge amounts of air through her mouth, heart racing, Buffy had only a second to decide her next move before the huge attacker came after her, his eyes hard and unimpressed, his expression cold, promising violent reprisal.

She was fast enough that she could have escaped, probably should have run, but the continuing cries from her parents overcame thoughts of personal safety. It was foolish, their differences in size too much to be overcome by any amount of skill she brought to bear, any stratagem she might devise. But it was her _mother_ crying out in fright and pain, so she had to _try_. Accepting the fact that she was in for some serious pain, Buffy attacked, knowing she had no chance of reaching his vital organs so going for his eyes. And she almost made it. He hadn't been expecting it, but reacted just in time, with just enough force, that the stiffened finger aiming for his left eye only gashed a deep cut into his cheek.

The counter punch was crippling. His fist was nearly the size of her head, and wrapped in a chain it drove down on her shoulder with the force of a battering ram. Knocked to the ground, Buffy was able to break the fall with her hands, which were scraped and cut by small stones and pieces of glass lying on the crumbling cement sidewalk. Knowing what was coming she tried to twist, but driven by rage at the knowledge that he had just come very close to losing his eye, the mugger kicked out, tough combat boots pounding into her hip with sufficient force to lift her entire body. The pain was excruciating, the physical damage so severe Buffy was barely able to roll out of the way of his follow up kick.

Somehow she was able to force herself to her feet, just barely able to push aside the pain given the certain knowledge that this attacker wasn't going to behave like someone in the movies, who were always nice enough to give the hero time to get up, to recover their breath, to think. Not this bastard. He knew he had damaged her, knew she was still dangerous, and wasn't in the slightest bit interested in giving her another opportunity to attack him. Coming for her like a juggernaut, he was easily able to block the kick she sent towards his groin, and then he was in close, she had nowhere to run, and his fists started coming in jackhammer blows.

After the first punch she was barely conscious; after the third her face was a bloody mess, her ribs broken. Only then did he allow her to drop to the pavement, only dimly aware of her surroundings, her entire world reduced to an all-encompassing, overwhelming fog of pain. About the only thought able to penetrate the agony was astonishment, a shocked despair, that after everything she had been through, everything she had accomplished, it would end like this. That she, who had fought and defeated some of the most powerful supernatural entities ever known, would go down to her final defeat to a simple mugger. That she, who had saved so many people, would fail to save her mother. For a second time.

And then, just as the mugger caught his breath and reached down to haul her up by the front of her shirt, everything changed.

She felt _strong_.

Instantly, like a switch being pressed, the pain disappeared. The broken ribs were suddenly whole. The cuts stopped bleeding.

Anyone else would have been shocked. Would have taken a moment to understand. Would have tried to figure out what had happened. Not Buffy.

To the astonishment of the mugger lifting her up like a sack of potatoes, her head, until then rolling about without conscious control, suddenly firmed, rock steady, her eyes suddenly opened, and what looked out of them wasn't human.

On this world, he would be the first living being ever to see a Slayer. He would not enjoy the 'honor.' Before he knew it, before he even had the slightest inkling that the situation had just been radically altered, his wrists were grasped by small hands of inhuman strength. Suddenly the girl was standing on legs that were rock solid. His arms, massive, bulging with muscles capable of bench pressing 500 pounds, were drawn away from her, inexorably moved aside with incredible ease, every effort to oppose her effortlessly overcome.

And then it was his turn to know pain as she let one arm go, holding onto the other because otherwise the punches suddenly driving into his chest with the power of a pneumatic hammer would have been enough to knock him flying. Restrained, he was unable to escape the blows, one following another, each coming after an interval so short as to be physically impossible. Human arms simply could not move that fast. Human muscles simply could not hit that hard.

Human eyes couldn't be that cold, that furious.

In seconds it was over. The mugger might live, but he would never be physically capable of hurting anyone else. It happened so fast his companions had no time to adjust, no time to come to his aid. And then suddenly his body, all 300 pounds of it, was flying though the air –physically impossible!—and crashing into the two men restraining the older woman. One was holding her shoulders, the other never saw the approaching body because his back was to the action, his hands busy lowering his pants. He took the brunt of the thundering crash as the huge body landed, his body protecting the older woman from suffering serious injury herself.

It would take them at least a few seconds to work themselves to their feet, seconds the inhuman fighting machine which had only moments earlier been a tiny, savagely beaten young girl, used to good effect. The two men restraining her father –they had him on the ground, one securing his legs with duct tape, the other holding his arms in a restraining lock—were next. One was picked up by front of his shirt, and, using _only one hand_, she tossed the body with terrifying force into the impenetrable darkness of the alley. Impenetrable to humans, perhaps, but the girl obviously knew something was there, and used the human missile to take out the sixth member of the gang, who had been hiding in reserve and was only then reaching for his gun. He would never draw it. The force of his thrown companion hitting him full-on was enough to knock both of them into the rubble at the back of the alley, broken wooden planks and pieces of metal causing even more damage to their out-of-control bodies.

Until then it had all happened so fast that nobody had had a chance to say anything. The one restraining her father had enough time to say a disbelieving "No…" before a fist drove into his face with enough force to smash though a brick wall. The sound of his cheek- and jaw bones breaking was louder even than the crash his unconscious body made when it hit the wall six feet behind him.

And then it was the turn of the animals where were preparing to rape her mother. They were crawling backwards, desperately trying to escape the inhuman monster marching towards them, their eyes shocked and disbelieving at what had just happened, at how quickly the situation had changed, at how badly things were about to get. Because they could both see her eyes, the set of her mouth, and knew that as bad as it had already been, things were about to get a whole lot worse.

In that, they were correct.

Buffy could not recall ever being so furious. The time when she had found Riley prostituting himself to those vampires, _willingly_ permitting them to drink his blood, perhaps came closest. But even that wasn't in the same ballpark. These dirtbags had _planned on raping her mother!_ In her eyes, nothing except an attack on Dawn could be considered more unacceptable, more intolerable. More worthy of punishment. And so that was exactly what she did: impose punishment.

They would live. Even in her rage, Buffy knew she was forbidden to kill even such as these people, no matter how much they might deserve it. But she could inflict _pain_, the sort of pain no one would ever forget, no one would _be able to_ forget because it would never, ever, go away. And did she ever.

It didn't take long, unfortunately, because by the time it was over Buffy hadn't even come close to assuaging her rage. Only the fact that they couldn't handle anything more and survive made her stop. That, and the expressions of unabashed terror in her parents' eyes. Fear which was not directed at their attackers, but was for _her_.

Her father was the first to recover his voice. "What the hell _are you!_"

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Buffy was still pondering his question. She hadn't answered him at the time, but instead helped her mother to her feet, her hands gentle, her demeanor as non-threatening as possible in the face of their fear. Promising to talk about it later, she saw he wanted to argue but gestured to his wife, who was looking like she might almost be in shock. His expression was furious, the lack of concern for his wife angering Buffy so much she was able to meet it without flinching. She had escorted them to the car –to nobody's surprise, there was not another attack—and left them there. Suggesting that he take Joyce to a hospital, she was barely able to hold on to her tenuous grip on her temper when he tried to argue. "She's _hurt_, dammit! You might have gotten away without a scratch but she needs a doctor!"

It hadn't been meant as an accusation, merely an observation, but Hank had been indignant, seemingly offended that she might be accusing him of cowardice. But it did at least bring an end to his attempts at interrogating her, of ignoring the fact that his wife had just been though a horrifically traumatic experience and he was wasting time better spent getting her some help by asking questions that were irrelevant to her immediate need for medical attention. Even then, finally behind the wheel, he had tried to argue that she should accompany them to the hospital. "It's dangerous out here!"

She had just looked at him steadily, not saying a word.

Finally, however, they left, hopefully going to a hospital where her mother might get some help. Leaving Buffy an opportunity to consider the question Hank had asked first: what was she?

The obvious answer was that she was once again a Slayer. But that answer didn't make much sense. She now lived in a world which didn't have vampires, that had never needed a Slayer, where virtually all supernatural creatures were only superstition. There was no mechanism for Calling a Slayer in this world, nor any reason why one should be Called. None the less, and however it had happened, there was no denying that she was, in fact, once again the Slayer.

The differences in her body and her senses were amazing, the feelings almost euphoric. Her vision was now so good she could see individual blades on a rotating fan in the darkened window of a building a block away. Her sense of smell was so sophisticated she could separate the stench of rat droppings under a garbage bin located across the street from the various pungent odors emanating from the bin itself. Her ribs, broken only a few minutes earlier, were now healed and strong enough to withstand the impact of the small car she could hear driving on a street a half mile for her present location, and discriminate from the sound of every other vehicle on that street.

The difference in sensory input was measured in orders of magnitude, the feelings of power it engendered almost orgasmic in its intensity. Buffy was physically incapable of standing still. The tingling sensation of every individual nerve ending on her entire body responding with such sensitivity that she could discern individual threads in the fabric of her pants, was so overwhelming she had to move before she came just from the feel of a gentle wind brushing her forearm. Energy filled her, power almost overwhelming her, until she had to run, run faster than an Olympic sprinter, jump higher than any athlete could dream of, climb the exterior of buildings with the ease of a mountain goat.

Her trek home was a revelation, an exuberant display of personal power, an object lesson on the depths of human misery. The things she saw and heard on her journey, the way people could treat each other worse than any demon could ever imagine, was horrifying to someone who had seen her own horrors all too often and couldn't understand why anyone would want to treat another living being the way some people treated those they claimed to love. Growing up in a town like Sunnydale simply hadn't prepared her for the reality of live in a poor, desperate ghetto like she was passing through in East LA.

Nobody saw her, nobody heard her, nobody would ever know she was there. By the time she reached her family's home she had managed to temper her senses, to dampen the overwhelming sensory input that had been euphoric but occasionally horrifying. Morning was approaching, and she was distracted by the thoughts of what she had seen and heard. She wasn't really surprised to see that her mother was looking out the window for her, and felt slightly guilty that she hadn't taken a cell phone along with her to let her parents know she was alright.

For a second the change in expression in her mom's face confused her. Relief, then anger, rapidly changing to horror, all in quick succession when she saw her walking along the path leading to their town house. Distracted by the events of the past few hours Buffy was too slow to respond to the hint, only realizing how stupid she had been when she felt the darts smash into her back.

By the time the third one hit, she was already unconscious.


	6. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

**Far Beyond Normal**

**Chapter Five**

She ran.

Instinct drove her; there was no sign of intelligence in her mad eyes. Naked, body covered in sweat-streaked dirt, hair tangled into a knotted rat nest, she was recognizably female but nothing close to human. Skin burnt and peeling under an unrelenting sun, lips white and cracked from dehydration. Her body was covered in a thin layer of mud, not enough to conceal prominent ribs and a horrible gauntness which was on the wrong side of the divide between malnutrition and starvation. But it was the eyes that betrayed her true state; mad, raging eyes, feral in their depthless fury.

Every so often, when the sweat built up enough, the girl's nose would twitch as if she smelled something unpleasant, and she would drop to the ground and roll in the dusty, parched soil. Then she would jump back to her feet, awkwardly running in random directions under the blistering sun, building up a sweat, the process repeated endlessly. There was no indication of how long she had been doing it, save the terrible sunburn, but she hadn't stopped since her feral senses had detected another human in the distance many hours earlier.

When she had sensed someone, she had hidden from them. Hidden well. The best sensors modern science could build hadn't been able to find her. And they were looking real hard.

Anyone who might have found her, and analyzed the sweat-caked mud that flaked off whenever she rolled in the dirt, would have been amazed at the variety and concentration of chemicals in the mud. The girl was trying to drive the toxins out of her blood the only way she could: by adrenaline and sweat. The fact that she had been able to do this, or even to move at all, would had astounded anyone who recognized even a few of the many biotoxins mixed in with the dirt. They would not, however, have been surprised that she had been driven insane by the cocktail.

Night fell before she stopped rolling in the dirt every few minutes. At first there was no indication as to whether it was simple exhaustion which made her pause, or some other reason. Only an occasional gesture, a quick glance, indicated the gradual, slow return of intelligence to light brown eyes flecked with the slightest tinge of green. Eyes which never lost their rage. Or their fear.

When she somehow heard the muted thumping of a distant helicopter the girl ran for cover, hugging a dry cliff, remaining hidden in the shadow of the natural barrier. Only when even her extraordinarily sensitive senses could no longer detect it did the girl resume walking, apparently no longer having the energy to run. In fact, she was barely able to walk. Remaining upright through grit and determination, her motion was noticeably deliberate, her direction no longer random. It was not immediately apparent what criteria she had used to determine the direction she had chosen since there was nothing in any direction which might indicate either civilization or water. But her senses were obviously incredibly acute, and she had a definite target in mind.

Sanity occasionally showed in the depths of eyes that even given her sorry physical state were startlingly beautiful. Eyes which didn't tear up only because her body had no water to waste. But at times an expression of horrific sadness could be seen in those eyes, before the drugs took over, sanity disappeared, and only rage remained. Those moments of lucidity started to increase however as the night got longer and the temperature dropped. Sweat could no longer be produced, adrenaline had long since worn off; but time continued to pass, and the drugs couldn't last forever.

Perhaps the girl –and she definitely was a girl, if one horribly disfigured by violence and starvation and a sunburn from hell—perhaps she had reason to regret her return to lucidity. At first it was apparent that she was too feral to remember anything, not even her name or how to speak it. But time passed, sanity slowly began to return, and with it memories that she obviously found extremely difficult to bear. Memories of such horror that as the drugs faded, she seemed to regret the loss of the numbing insanity they had once provided.

Her mind was filled with visions of horror, made even worse somehow by the deliberateness of it, the scientific detachment of those inflicting the most obscene tortures upon her. Memories of being restrained inside a metal room, distorted noise blaring from hidden speakers at such volume that her ears bled, interrupted by a voice screaming for her to '_Obey_!' Being drowned in ice water; scalded by boiling water; whipped and beaten; constantly drugged and chained and the never ending demand that she would '_Obey_.' Who she would obey was never stated. The slightest attempt at disobedience to _anyone_ was simply cause for even more punishment. Obedience to _everything_, to _anyone_, under any and all circumstances; this was the demand.

How long she had undergone the ordeal she had no idea. It might have been years, an eternity in Hell, or only days, but she didn't remember either way. Just the drugs and the pain and the beatings and the incessant demand that she '_obey_.' And the one mistake, caused by the arrogance of her jailers, that she had exploited. She was only then finally able to truly _dis_obey by escaping. Not without problems, however. She remembered fighting, dimly remembered lashing out with strength she seemed to recall she had been forbidden to use against humans, but that had not been a time for obedience to the rules. It had been a time to do whatever it took to escape, to survive. To finally _disobey_.

Suddenly, without any preparation, more of her memory came back. Her name. She tried it out. "I am Buffy Summers." The sounds came out horribly distorted, her mouth dry, her larynx physically damaged from days of agonized screaming. Her walk slowed, exhaustion overwhelming the enormous energy reserves of a Slayer. She was barely able to find a concealed depression in the rock face and crawl into it before she fell unconscious.

* * *

When she awoke, the intense heat of day was back in full force. But her mind was clear for the first time since her capture, and Buffy welcomed the heat. She was chilled by the memories of unimaginable horror. Torture, carried out by agents of her own governments. Torture, abetted by the betrayal of her own father.

There was no question in her mind that Hank had called them in. Somewhere in the patchy horrors of her memory was a statement to that effect by one of the torturers, who told her that she had nowhere to turn, no one to protect her, that even her family had betrayed her, that all she could do was submit herself to their will. To _obey_.

The sense of betrayal was crushing. The knowledge that she should have expected it –that she really _was_ expecting it—no comfort. But she also remembered the look on her mothers face, and knew that despite what they had claimed, it wasn't her family who had turned on her, but the spoiled, whiny, self-centered bastard her father had once again proven himself to be. He wasn't worth her tears. He wasn't worth her regret. She refused to give him the satisfaction of even that much emotion. To her, he was dead. The way she had been to him back in Sunnydale.

She took stock of her situation. A quick glance around confirmed what the extreme temperature already suggested: she was in the middle of a desert. There was no sign of water in any direction, just rock and dust and dirt. Which was a problem, because she was already dehydrated to the point where it was not just an annoyance but was genuinely life-threatening. If there was a good side, it was that the water issue was so overwhelming that it pushed aside such trivial issues as her state of undress, state of emancipation, of starvation, of despair, of loss.

A quick glance towards the sun indicated that it was high enough in the sky for it to be some time until sunset, far enough west that it was more likely afternoon than morning. Considering her options, and her internal resources, Buffy decided not to start off immediately. She would rest until the heat of day passed, using what shade she had available to conserve what little moisture she had left. With the decision made she lay back down, and despite the heat, the despair, the overwhelming sense of betrayal, she was asleep within minutes.

* * *

It was only after walking for at least four hours once night fell that she heard something. Not a helicopter or jeep, which would have forced her to hide until it went away, but the distinct sound of a motorbike, a big one, not the kind of trail bike her pursuers might use for off-road travel. There had been indications of a road in this direction, which was why she chose it, but no lights, no artificial structures as far as the eye could see. Several times she had noted metal stakes protruding from distant hills, and a dim memory of sophisticated detection instruments, of motion- and heat-sensors, had her working her way carefully around them. Only a Slayer could have done it, but she wasn't certain if a Slayer as close to the ragged edge of exhaustion as her had succeeded, until long, tense minutes passed with no sign of helicopters being sent to investigate.

There was no way to tell how far she had come from the compound where she had been held. Her memory of the time spent there, and much of her escape, was buried either by psychic trauma or drug-induced amnesia, so she wasn't sure how long she had been running. But hours had now passed without seeing any of the sensor poles, the motorcycle engine was the first human-built sound she had detected since passing whatever boundary marked the torturers turf, and she was too close to exhaustion to wait for another, perhaps better, option.

It took another hour of following the sound that the motorcycle had made before she found it. The bike was parked beside a concealed sports car. Her eyes could detect heat from the engine of the big bike, but the car was cold, obviously parked for some time. Normally her night vision was good enough to have scanned the area from a distance, but malnutrition and exhaustion meant that she was barely able to make out the tiny wooden shack, apparently decades old, hidden by a wall of sand and tough, sharply-needled bushes. No light came from the shed, but she could hear someone inside, muttering indistinctly.

A careful survey of the surrounding area didn't locate another person, despite the two vehicles, so it was possible there was only one man –the mumbled voice was male—but it was likely there were other people in the shed. Either way she figured that was where the water was likely to be, and after the events she had just been through Buffy had no intentions of just knocking and begging for a glass. She was tired of being the victim, or being pushed by events beyond her control. She wasn't going to go Faith, but she wasn't going to be asking for permission either. After careful preparation, bringing forth what little reserves of strength she had remaining, Buffy silently crept up on the structure, lifted her foot, and kicked the ancient wooden-plank door in.

An internal hook on the door directed the wreckage mostly to the left, so Buffy entered to the right, surprising the large person who she assumed to be the biker while he was still lying down. It was fortunate she hadn't knocked; he had a gun, and was preparing to shoot at the silhouette outlined in the doorway when she moved with Slayer speed and kicked out. The shack was so small her foot was able to reach the bed. His aim thrown off by the impact, the gun went off, the light of it enough for Buffy to see the rest of the cabin, to assess any other threats, to quickly move to the bed, fists flying to knock away the gun and knock the man unconscious. Once she verified he was out, and likely to remain so, she ignored the hostage tied up in the corner, eyes wide and terrified when illuminated during the sudden gunshot, and instead reached for the water.

It was the best tasting water she had ever drunk. Warm, metallic, tasting of oil and dirt, it was still ambrosia, better than Perrier from a bottle. She ignored the muffled noises coming from the gagged hostage –kidnap victim?—and searched for more water when she drank the first canteen dry. There was a five gallon plastic bladder in the corner. She grabbed it, hauling it outside, and after drinking her fill, used some more to wash the accumulated grime from her hair and body. In the chill of the night the impromptu bath was beyond invigorating; it was energizing, awakening her to full consciousness, only then realizing how close she had been to losing her fight to exhaustion, dehydration, and exposure.

Once sort of clean-ish, she made her way to the bike. It wasn't a Harley, but still a big, powerful machine. The car was even more so; fancy, Japanese, the kind a rich kid would drive. Once she pulled aside the concealing tarp, she could see a good set of luggage in the tiny back seat. Opening one of the suitcases, she put on one of the pressed shirts packed neatly inside. It was small enough to fit the hostage in the shack, but would have been big on her even before she grew so emaciated. Finding a pair of pants, she tore off about a foot of their length at the ends, and found a belt that would keep them up. The holes in the belt didn't go far enough to clinch around her sunken waist; she had to simply tie the belt in a knot.

Clothed and feeling about a billion times better after drinking enough water to float a battleship, Buffy returned to the shed to assess the situation. The hostage was a young man, in his late teens or very early 20's she supposed, looking frantic and terrified as he tried to see her in the darkness. He was tied to a metal frame, secured by rope; gagged, snot coming from his nose, streaks from tears marking tracks through the dust on his face. It didn't take a rocket scientist to determine that he wasn't the bad guy here; and new, tougher attitude or not, it just wasn't in Buffy to leave a victim behind. After a quick glance around the hut, she went over to the hostage and untied him from the metal frame, but didn't untie his hands or feet.

Ignoring his confused, desperate mumblings, she effortlessly picked him up and carried him to the car. He wasn't able to stand as she opened the passenger door, securely-bound feet having lost circulation, but she held him up by one hand, opened the door, picked him up again and tossed him in. After closing the door she went over to the motorcycle and crushed a few parts that looked important. Then she went back to the shack, verified the biker was still unconscious, and grabbed the bag of beef jerky she had noticed earlier, took the wallet lying on a nearby shelf, and searched for anything he might use to call for rescue. When she found the cell phone and his keys, she pocketed the latter and crushed the former. Without a backwards glance she retuned to the sports car, got in, and tried four keys before it turned over.

The dirt trail she drove on was more suited to an off-road vehicle, especially driving at night, without lights. But Buffy didn't want anyone following her. She was well aware that the heat of the engine would be just as noticeable to thermal sensors as headlights would be, but figured anyone coming after her would need their lights more than she did, so she would have the advantage. But nobody followed, and 20 minutes later they came to a paved road. Buffy figured driving without lights on such a road would be far more notable than using them so turned them on before hitting the gas. Only then did she turn to look at her passenger, who was staring at her with a bemused expression. "I'll take off the gag, but I warn you, if you become a problem I'll knock you out."

The young man kept glancing to her face, then back to the speedometer, and Buffy finally figured out he was a bit leery about her removing his gag when she had the car traveling at 140 miles per hour. Even for her that was a bit fast, but the road was straight and empty, and she had every reason to want to get as far away from where she was as quickly as she could. Using one hand, she reached behind his head and loosened the knot securing the cloth gag. He spent a few moments twisting his mouth, trying to return circulation, while Buffy released the knots holding his arms behind his back as well. He couldn't hold back a groan as his hands were finally untied, and Buffy gestured towards the back seat. "There's water back there."

He grabbed a travel mug from the console between the seats, turned around and used the spigot to fill the mug. Buffy kept an eye on him, not thinking he'd be crazy enough to hit her while they were traveling at such a high speed, but taking no chances. She noticed how carefully he moved however, how he quickly crouched by the door as far from her as he could get. It took him a few minutes to work up the courage to speak. "Who are you?"

She just shrugged. "Does it matter? Who are you?"

"Mark Kessleton." The way he said the name, he expected to be recognized, but Buffy had never heard of him. Her reaction made that clear.

"I take it you're Somebody Important?"

Although her ignorance surprised him, it was apparently not something which gave offence, as he seemed to relax a bit. "My dad is Someone Important. Me, I'm just me."

His reaction in turn surprised her. She had expected he would be whiny about it, feeling oppressed and put upon, but his tone was more accepting, perhaps would have even been a bit amused under different circumstances. She looked over at him, examining him a bit more closely now that the situation wasn't so fluid. He wasn't a bad looking guy, but more nerdy than she liked, a bit pudgy too. But his face was honest and intelligent looking. Obviously a rich kid, but he didn't seem the type she remembered from college frat parties, expecting the world on a platter, and sulking when he didn't get it.

Her first impression was more favorable than his, and a quick glance in the rear view mirror showed why. She looked _horrible_; emaciated, burnt to a crisp, world-weary and borderline-crazy. Maybe even over the border. Her eye color had always varied from hazel to green, but was now mostly brown, as was her hair, which was usually a lighter blonde. Part of the Slayer package included such built-in camouflage, and the sheer 'brown-ness' of her look was a pretty good indication that the Slayer was trying to blend in, trying to hide. It hadn't worked out too well.

"How can you do that?" She glanced over at him, noticing that he had been watching her examine herself. "How can you drive this fast and look in the mirror? How could you see so well in the dark? I don't mean to be insulting but you look like you just escaped from a concentration camp, but you lifted me like I weighted nothing. And you took out that guy with one punch! I know how strong he was… someone your size shouldn't have even been able to bruise him, let alone knock him unconscious with just one punch."

Buffy didn't intend to explain, so ignored the questions. "You got any idea where we are?"

He didn't appear to be overly surprised that she didn't answer. Unfortunately she got the impression that he normally answered his own questions, using his own intellect to reach his own conclusions. The Willow type. "I figure we're about 200 miles north east of Las Vegas."

It wasn't much of a surprise. The area had looked sort of like Death Valley. And there were a lot of secret military areas between Las Vegas and Reno, in country nobody else really wanted. "How long were you held?"

"He got me the day before yesterday. He was at the side of the road and flagged me down. In this country a broken down car can be a death sentence. Before I knew what was happening I was tied up and hauled away like the Christmas turkey."

Which was why Buffy had always told Dawn not to stop for strangers, but instead use her cell and call the police to report it. Or at least she would have, had she lived long enough to teach her sister how to drive. "Was he working alone?"

"No. I didn't see the other guy when I pulled over, and never got a good look at him, but he drove the bike while the guy you knocked out drove me in my car. He got a few calls while I was there, and left a couple of times with my watch and other identifiable items. Not sure how many of them were in on it; but there was definitely at least two."

She shrugged. "More, if they knew who you were, what you were driving, which road you were taking, and when you'd be taking it."

That got her a closer look, obviously reassessing her intelligence. "Yeah. I thought about that too." He didn't add anything more, and Buffy didn't ask.

They drove in silence for awhile, the car handling the steady 140 mph speed without a complaint, but Buffy slowed to a more sedate 90 once she saw the lights of the city in the distance, not wanting to be pulled aside by the police she figured would already be on the alert for her. She realized that driving the expensive toy of a kidnap victim was probably not the most inconspicuous way to enter a city when you were trying to be unobtrusive. But it was Las Vegas, a city that had more than its fair share of fancy cars, and her options were pretty thin. She had scarfed back about a pound of beef jerky and downed maybe half a gallon of water, but she was still hungry, only now she also had to pee. And take a real shower. And get a real night's sleep.

And figure out what the hell she was going to do.

The earliest light of false dawn was visible by the time they reached the outskirts of the city. Figuring she would be wise to remain as far as possible from downtown, or areas where the police might congregate, she deliberately drove off the main roads, looking for an older neighborhood, finally locating a motel that was long past its prime. Without giving the slightest warning she suddenly lashed out with her fist, knocking her unsuspecting passenger unconscious. After verifying that she hadn't killed him, she parked, woke the proprietor, and used her ditzy-blonde act to get a room for the day despite not having any id, explaining that she and her boyfriend were getting married so she figured her old id's weren't any good since she'd be changing her name and everything. Paying for the room with cash from the biker's wallet, she hauled the boy from the car into their room, tying him up securely before driving away.

Figuring that the car was just too noticeable she drove around until she found a parking lot, paying the machine from the coins she had received in change when paying for the room. After that she walked back to the motel, stopping at several stores along the way to buy food and clothing. That didn't leave much of the biker's cash, so she had to ponder how she was going to get some additional funds as she made her way back to their room. Mark was awake, glaring at her furiously when she opened the door. Giving him an apologetic shrug and a sad smile, she left him bound and gagged as she took the shower she so desperately needed.

When she returned, wearing only a towel, his eyes almost bugged out of his skull at the difference. Nearly a full bottle of conditioner had done wonders for her hair; she was sufficiently hydrated that although she was still far too skinny, it was almost fashionably anorexic rather than concentration-camp starved. Her eyes looked huge, and the sunburned skin had been scrubbed clear. The change was amazing… and she felt a bit of her usual self-confidence restored by the way he obviously noticed. Still, she warned him that she would knock him out again if he did anything to attract attention, before untying the gag and his other bonds.

"You didn't have to do that!"

"Yes I did. You have no idea how much trouble I'm in. The last thing I need is for you to call the police, and have a whole media circus drop on me."

"In case you haven't figured it out yet, you _saved_ me from my kidnappers! Whatever trouble you're in, I can pretty much guarantee you that my father will do anything he can to help you…"

Buffy shook her head. "I don't know who your dad is, kid, but _I_ can pretty much guarantee _you_ that he can't help me. I am, as the expression goes, in seriously deep shit, from people who could eat your father for lunch. No matter who he is. Take some advice, kid: you do _not_ want to get your dad involved in this."

He looked offended. At first she thought it was because she was implying his daddy couldn't fix everything before realizing her error. "I'm not a _kid_! I'm probably older than you are!" Buffy just smiled, feeling about ten thousand years old, and started unpacking her groceries. Gesturing to the food, she began to dig in. She had figured that he would probably be nearly as hungry as she was so had bought enough for six. Mumbling under his breath at her insultingly offensive choice in verbs, he quickly grabbed something before she ate everything in sight. For someone who looked anorexic, he couldn't help but be impressed at the way she was packing it away.

Some time passed before they were both stuffed, and sat back, he on the bed, Buffy on a particularly ugly 50's-style chair. For awhile they just sat there in contented silence, life at that moment not sucking, before he sighed and brought them back to reality. "What are your plans?"

Shrugging, Buffy sipped her Coke, trying not to think too much about it, because she knew that once she did, and now that the immediate danger had passed, she was going to have an emotional breakdown of apocalyptic proportions. "I need some time, just to sleep and recover. I know you want to go home, to let your family know that you're okay, but if you do you'll have no choice but to tell them what happened, and they'll come after me. Just give me a few hours."

He shrugged, smiling lightly, not overly concerned. "I'm okay with that. It's kinda pathetic that this has been, well, sort of the best day I think I've ever had in my entire life. Well, not the kidnapping, and getting knocked out, and the being scared shitless parts, but, well, it really has been an amazing experience…" His voice trailed off, noticing the look on the girl's face. A kind of sympathetic, tired look, filled with understanding, but also a kind of wistful weariness that made him suddenly understand that she hadn't been talking about chronological age when she called him a 'kid.' Seeing that look in her amazingly expressive eyes made him wonder what sort of life she had known, what sort of horrors she had experienced to give her eyes like that. One thing was certain; she did not represent a threat to his life. Wryly rubbing his still-sore jaw, he noted that just because she wasn't likely to kill him didn't mean he was safe around her.

Gesturing to the bed, she had him turn away while she put on some clothing before joining him there. "If you try anything, I'm going to tie you up and knock you out again, _capice_?" She snuggled up to him, needing the warmth of human contact, needing to know there was someone decent left in the world. Events were catching up to her, the emotional devastation of what had happened to her, what _her father_ had allowed to happen to her, tearing her apart inside. Having been through so much, survived so much, she knew how strong she was, how confident she was that no matter how much she was knocked down she could always get back up. But there were limits. Like when Glory had gotten to Dawn… there were limits. And she had just run into hers.

She couldn't comprehend it… her own father had sold her out, had turned her over to government agents, who had then tortured her. _Her own father_ had quite literally betrayed her, out of spite or jealousy or sheer deluded stupidity, he had given her over to people who would stop at nothing to get her under their control. Who were willing to kill her if she didn't submit, because anything they couldn't control _might_ be a threat, and threats could not be tolerated. It was difficult for her to understand the world she found herself in; a strange, bizarre parallel world where supernatural monsters didn't exist… but human ones did. A world where hatred and betrayal were encouraged by a government that played its own people against one another. Where people had less rights than the vampires had back in Sunnydale.

As the Slayer, Buffy had been the Law within the supernatural community. She was judge, jury, and executioner all rolled into one. Some people let such power go to their heads, and didn't bother too much with the 'judgment' part. Buffy's philosophy had always been pretty much 'live-and-let-live,' where so long as nobody messed with the human population she would leave them alone. She didn't have the time, energy, or blood-thirstiness needed to go out and collect heads just for the rush of proving that she could. But in this world a single, tragic terrorist event had motivated the government to get into the head-collecting business, to dispense with rational judgment and claim there were no limits on what they could do, all in the name of protecting their citizens.

In principle, Buffy had nothing against that idea. In practice she knew it was a disaster waiting to happen. It was Faith writ large, an entire government dedicated to the idea that they were above the law, that because they 'protected the citizens' the rules didn't apply to them. It was insane, it was going to end very, very badly, and nobody seemed to realize it. Or care if they did. Buffy herself had been more than happy to break the rules when it suited her, but she had played by those rules until she found a better way, and had very good reasons for changing rules when it was necessary to do so. Faith had simply tossed out the rulebook… and got burned when those rules, which had also protected her, turned around and bit her in the ass.

It astonished her that there were people in power so naïve, so detached from the real world, that they didn't understand the simple concept of 'what goes around, comes around.' It seemed obvious to her that you couldn't throw out the rules for yourself, yet still expect everyone else to follow them. Society was a deck of cards, interdependent, and these idiots were pulling out the foundation cards like nihilistic children. They didn't seem to be aware, or care, that it would eventually fall down on their collective heads.

What they had done to her hadn't been an exercise in random sadism. It had been torture with a purpose, although the zeal and enjoyment they got out of the act made it pretty clear that whatever they told themselves so they could sleep at night, sadism had definitely played a major part in it. But the overt intention had been to force her to submit to the will of the State, as represented by whoever the State might choose. And to perform whatever purpose that person claimed represented the State's collective will. To a girl like Buffy, who had seen the Initiative in action, who had been burned by the orders of the Council, the thought of subverting her right to make her own decisions to the will of an unknown, unseen body, who somehow felt they had the right to direct other people's lives, was an absolute non-starter.

She found it inconceivable that anyone would buy into such lunacy. But obviously there were… obviously her father did. To the point where he would betray his daughter to them, would let them do unspeakable things to her, in return for vague assurances that it was for the collective good. As she lay in the uncomfortable bed, in a borderline-sleazy motel, Buffy couldn't stop the tears she hadn't realized had been falling onto the chest of a young man she didn't know. A young man who had shown more courage and integrity than her own father. Who was the only truly decent man she had encountered since arriving on this world. Who simply held her and let her cry. It wasn't something she normally did, wasn't something she had even done since awakening here, but at that moment, under those conditions, Buffy desperately needed someone, needed something decent.

Sitting up, she straddled his waist, looking into his shocked, nervous eyes. "If you don't want to do this, just tell me to stop." He swiftly shook his head, partly excited but mostly frightened… not of her, but of screwing up what he hoped was happening. "I've never…." Gently holding her fingers over his mouth, Buffy took the lead, wanting this to be something decent, something human when everything around her was ugly and indecent. It wasn't love, it wasn't really anything but a need for companionship, but to both of their surprise it turned into something real, something neither would regret the next morning. Afterward, she held him, not offended that he wasn't as beautiful as Spike or Angel had been beautiful, but simply glad that together they had created something, if not beautiful, then at least something _human_, as neither Spike nor Angel had been truly human. Eventually they both fell asleep.

* * *

While she slept, for the first time since awakening on this world, Buffy had a Slayer dream. A prophetic dream. A dream about the end of the world.

* * *

After just a few hours sleep, Buffy carefully extricated herself from the embrace of the young man, got dressed, and quietly left the room. She hoped he would sleep long enough to give her time to get away, but didn't really care if he didn't. The way she felt right then, the rage she felt over the miserable Powers That Be, who were obviously once again out to fuck up her life, she was more than ready to go out in a blaze of glory and to hell with the lot of them. This whole damned thing had been nothing but another of their scams, a way to manipulate Buffy into doing their damned bidding. And she was thoroughly sick of doing their dirty work.

But, as usual, she could not ignore the compelling images of the horrors quickly approaching. She didn't know how much time this world had left before it was attacked… by friggin' _aliens_, of all things… but the massive slaughter they would unleash was not something she could put aside. She could only hope that the miserable bastards in government would kill her before she had to do anything about it, and she could go out smugly content in knowing it would mean their own inevitable demise. In the meantime she would do her best to fix the approaching mess. That meant first finding a bus, heading anywhere. Once arriving wherever it was she ended up, she would locate some random drug dealer and rob him. Or more than one, if that's what it took. And then she would keep getting on random busses, then get off in random locations, taking other busses, until eventually she finally arrived in a non-random location.

If she was being recalled as a Slayer, she was going to need some help.

Scooby-type help.


	7. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

**Far Beyond Normal**

**Chapter Six**

It took more than a week to reach Boston. She had moved quickly, and the boy –she couldn't believe she had had sex with Mike, not after the Parker fiasco, but to her surprise didn't really regret it—had come through by taking his sweet time about reporting his escape. She had been waiting for another bus in a small town in Arizona, watching the news on tv in the bus stop restaurant, when she realized they were showing CSI and FBI agents going over the car she had parked away from the hotel. The reporters were explaining that the car belonged to Mark Kessleton, kidnapped son of California congressman Dan Kessleton, when Mark had casually walked up to the police line, holding the lot stub she had left on the hotel table, and tried to explain who he was.

The farce of the police trying to force him away from the crime scene barrier, captured on live tv, had made her smile, but it also set her clock to running. Once they questioned him, Mark would eventually have no chance but to explain how he got away from the kidnappers, and it wouldn't take the torturers long to put two and two together. Once they had a starting point they would quickly figure out what she might do given her limited financial options.

In that, Buffy got lucky. Her original plan had been to return to LA, where she knew the lay of the land and could hide for awhile, but she was able to make a deal with a frustrated single mother she overheard while sitting in the restaurant. Approaching the frazzled woman, she offered to drive her vehicle to Phoenix, freeing up her to look after the kids. She promised she would obey all traffic laws, not go above the speed limit, and would even chip in for gas money since it would save her a pile on bus fare. If a man had made the offer there was no way it would have been accepted, but once again Buffy's small size and essential 'cuteness' came to her rescue, and that easily her trail essentially vanished.

When the young woman turned out to be a fashion buyer for an up-scale chain Buffy had often frequented a quick friendship was founded on their common interest. Buffy knew a _lot_ about clothes. Some people had even gone so far as to accuse her of being obsessed with clothing. But the young woman, whose name was Bonita Sanchez –"Call me Bonnie!"—knew even more, and from a different perspective than Buffy had of the retail business. After verifying that Buffy actually could drive, Bonnie was freed up to establish discipline among the kids, and had a ready audience for her stories once they settled down. It was soon apparent that Bonnie loved to talk, and even more loved to talk shop with someone who was as interested in the topic as Buffy.

She soon realized the meager state of Buffy's finances, and given how pleasant the drive had become once the children started behaving refused to let her pay for either the gas or the meals when they stopped. In gratitude Buffy tried to help out with the kids, twin three year old monsters and the baby who had just turned one. After just a few minutes of it, she would have preferred facing the Torak-han in combat. Them, at least, she could kill. Bonnie was good natured about the whole thing, and impressed enough to offer to help Buffy find a job if she intended to spend some time in Phoenix. A thankful Buffy had to regretfully decline, saying she had a job lined up and a place to stay in Houston, although she made it plain how sincerely gratified she was by the offer.

Leaving the nice family when they reached Phoenix, Buffy regretfully tossed the business card Bonnie had given her into the garbage. If she was found she didn't want any of her problems to fall on them. But between Bonnie and Mark, some of the faith Buffy had lost in her fellow humans had been restored. Those in power might be dickheads; but the average person was still worth saving.

* * *

Phoenix was big enough that Buffy felt it worth the risk of spending two days there. It took some time to locate some drug dealers and follow them back to their supplier, given the necessity of remaining hidden from view. The dealers would not have enough money on them for her needs; but the supplier would. But he also had armed guards, four of them, ready to protect him. Buffy was well aware that she wasn't bulletproof, but she was also short on both time and options. She planned her attack as carefully as she had ever planned an assault on any vampire nest, and hit them with all the speed and strength a Slayer could bring to bear. Even so one of the guards got off a shot. Fortunately it only grazed her, but after getting shot by Warren, Buffy was a bit gun shy and overreacted to the danger. Luckily she didn't kill anyone, but she hurt them worse than she had wanted to. Two of them would require hospitalization, which was something she had hoped to avoid under the assumption that if he could keep it quiet, the supplier probably would do so rather than let his competitors know he was weak enough to be taken down.

Whatever her intentions, the end result was two men with concussions, two with broken legs, and a furious supplier manhandled by someone considerably smaller than him. This had offended his machismo to the point where even if it hadn't been her plan to leave town as quickly as possible afterwards, she would have done so after realizing his threats of revenge were so heartfelt her only other choice would have been to kill him. And she wasn't ready for that. But she did come away with close to $5000 in cash, which meant her money situation was resolved, and that had been the purpose of the exercise.

She returned to the bus depot only after using some of the money to get new clothes and a new makeover, which were designed to better fit in with the style and culture of others who used the bus to travel the back roads of America. A preppy, but street-wise college student, with dark hair and glasses, looked nothing like the picture of Elizabeth Anne Summers, which were now gracing Wanted posters at every bus stop. It helped that she was able to fit in with the _real_ preppy, street-wise college girls traveling with her, to the point where she was an accepted part of their group, and as part of that group dismissed by the security guards and police looking everywhere for her. They were more than happy to welcome her into their group because when a dirty old man or pimp trying to recruit or simply a young man on the prowl tried to sit down beside her, Buffy 'dissuaded' them through an application of Slayer strength. And was willing to help out the other girls when they experienced similar problems. Having their own private bodyguard made her a popular figure among the other girls for a big chunk of the trip.

She made it to Albuquerque, then Denver, without once being questioned, and after that she was apparently beyond where they were concentrating their search, because she got to Minneapolis, then Chicago, and finally New York without the slightest indication that anyone was even looking for her. That left her plenty of time to think, to consider her position and options, and assess her actions. She was uncomfortably aware that she was increasingly acting contrary to the behavior and beliefs ingrained over a lifetime. To escape from the torturers she had _killed_. Not just once, but multiple times. And now she was a thief, and a mugger; a wanted criminal in fact as well as through circumstance. This violated all the rules she had been cautioned a Slayer must abide, or face serious consequences. It frightened her that Faith had been driven insane over breaking only a fraction of the rules Buffy had broached over the past few days.

But more days passed, as did the country passing by her window, and she didn't feel any different. Tired, bitter, frustrated perhaps… but those were normal for her. But she didn't feel like she was losing her mind, or like she was about to go suicidally postal the way Faith had after accidentally killing a man. With plenty of time to think about it however, she came to the conclusion that it wasn't the act of killing Finch which had driven Faith over the edge; it was the fact that _she didn't care_ that she had killed him. The Shadowmen who had created the spell binding the Slayer to the Chosen girl had been jealous of their power, and were likely careful who they bestowed it upon. They wouldn't want to chance putting so much power in the hands of a psycho. But accidents happened, especially given the violent world of a Slayer, and it seemed damned unfair to Buffy, not to mention wasteful, to burn a Chosen One just because she got unlucky.

If she was right, the spell binding the Slayer to her would not trigger any response over the death of the torturers because she wasn't dismissing it as unimportant. She also wasn't regretting it, except in the abstract, which made her a bit nervous; but they had represented a threat to her very survival, and she had been so out of her mind at the time that it was the Slayer more than her who had taken them out. As for stealing, well, given the Prophetic Dream she had been sent she knew there wouldn't be time to take a job at the local equivalent of Doublemeat Plaza where it would take the better part of eternity to save up $5000. She hoped that when lives were on the line she could cut corners… but would have to constantly remind herself that when they weren't, she couldn't. Because she was finding it increasingly easy to compromise her principles, justifying actions she knew were wrong by saying that she had no choice, by becoming harder and more cynical.

So given those restrictions she didn't act like a vigilante during the long trip across country. She didn't rob anyone else, or go hunting to save anyone from a mugging, didn't do anything she wouldn't have done back in Sunnydale. Problems which the cops were expected to solve were the cops' problem. She could defend herself, and those around her, when attacked; but she couldn't go around picking fights or exploiting her powers for personal gain. The decision seemed to be the right one, because as time passed, instead of growing more emotional, less stable, she gradually grew more accepting of her situation. Not happy, not content; but she couldn't change the way things were, so she forced herself to accept it.

It was a mostly-recovered Slayer who arrived in New York. Physically she was back to normal; emotionally, she was dealing. Her weight was up to what she considered normal, although she understood others might think her a bit too thin. But after some of the worst weeks in her life, Buffy was in about as good a shape as she was likely to get. So without looking back she took a cab to Grand Central Station, gawking like the tourist she was for the entire trip. From there it was Amtrak up to Boston, where Willow unknowingly awaited her.

* * *

The MIT campus was pretty interesting to a California girl. Where she grew up almost every building had been relatively new. Back there she knew people who were older than pretty much every building she had ever seen. But here, there were buildings centuries old. Their age wouldn't impress a European, but where Buffy came from 'ancient history' meant anything that predated World War II. So she wasn't interested in the modern buildings on the massive campus, but was fascinated by some of the older ones, the ones that had been standing there for centuries, and could imagine the changes they had witnessed, could put herself in the place of those walking their halls long before the internet, before hairdryers, before any of the other basics of civilization had been invented.

She attracted considerable attention. Girls who looked like Buffy were apparently not a routine presence on the MIT campus. Wherever she stopped to examine what she considered to be an architectural marvel she was watched by a veritable army of nerds, who suddenly popped out of every opening like prairie dogs. She knew she looked good. After what had happened, she needed the confidence boost. No longer needing to fit in as a bus-traveling vagabond, she was back up to fashion-plate Buffy standards. Leather pants, silk shirt, hair back to blonde, her once-horrible sunburn faded to give her skin a copper glow. Eyes back to hazel, now more green than brown. She walked with too much confidence, too much awareness of her own attractiveness to be bothered by an observing, but thoroughly cowed, nerd population.

The same couldn't be said for Willow, who she finally spotted after a short search of the campus directory. She was being bothered by a couple of boys whose sophomoric efforts at flirtation were of a type abandoned by non-nerds after grade school. Willow's shoulders were hunched forward defensively, her eyes locked on the sidewalk at her feet, her embarrassment and desperation evident at a glance to anyone more socially aware than the trio of would-be nerd lotharios making pathetically embarrassing attempts to display their figurative plumage in the nerd-equivalent of a courtship ritual. Overt displays of belt-mounted electronic equipment, mating calls of arcane cybernetic lore, and aromatically-challenged scents of cheap aftershave barely able to overwhelm the odor of sweat coming from chubby people being forced to waddle too quickly in order to keep up with the pace of the Female-type Person in their midst… this was soooooo beneath what her friend deserved.

Buffy descended on the flock with the imperiousness of a swan confronting the ugliest of ugly ducklings. First she paused to give the pathetic dweebs a chance to dream impossible dreams, to bask for what she was certain was the only time they would ever be in the presence of a tiny, blonde, stylishly-attired, socially confident, tautly toned, obviously ex-cheerleader type girl, and then, channeling her inner Cordelia, she used her tongue with the surgical precision of a samurai from Hell, verbally eviscerating their deportment, physique, and very existence when confronted by her sartorial majesty. In truth, Buffy didn't have anything against nerds… except when they were bothering her friends. And when that happened, she had found that a quick, ruthless display of her own vastly elevated social status, and absolute lack of interest in those things which conferred equivalent status within the nerd social hierarchy, was generally best to ensure that the social lepers never again subjected her friends to their unwanted attention. Or their very presence.

Although her social status in the Sunnydale High School hierarchy had been somewhat ambiguous, if not in the leper category herself, Buffy could still call upon the moves she had perfected at Hemery when the situation warranted it, where she had sat at or very near the top of the cultural food chain. Ergo, what followed was a slaughter; a rapid, vicious, and systematic verbal destruction of the offending nerds, a final disgusted dismissal sending them scurrying for the protection of a society where their unique talents were more appreciated, which meant nowhere connected to the external world except via fibre optic link. From start to finish it had taken less than three minutes; not a record, but Buffy was out of practice.

Turning to Willow, Buffy introduced herself, recognizing a look in her friends' eyes that neither of them had understood when they first met back in Sunnydale. Buffy really, _seriously_ did not want to go there, and so with vastly more subtlety than she had used to discourage the Nerd Herd, made it clear that she was in need of Willow's brain… and _only_ her brain. She pretended not to notice the look of disappointment she doubted Willow even realized was observable in her expression.

It took her about a pico-second to decide that before proceeding with her problem, however, Willow was in even more desperate need of some transformational magic. Ignoring the fact that as far as Willow was concerned they had just met, Buffy imperiously overruled any objections coming from her flattered but intimidated friend and summoned a taxi, which naturally almost ran over the nerds who had called for it in the driver's rush to respond to her casual wave. Their first stop was a beautician, where her hair was cut, shaped, and highlighted; where subtle makeup was applied after an extensive facial, where her eyebrows were plucked and her nails shaped and polished. Throughout the entire process Willow's frequent objections were blithely ignored, the small army of beauticians following Buffy's orders like a well-oiled military machine. Willow would have been pretty upset about the whole thing had the results not been so… extraordinary.

The long, straight, rust-colored hair she had worn since she was in kindergarten was gone… and so was the girl who had looked about 12 years old when staring back at her in the mirror that morning. Her new hairstyle was subtle yet sophisticated, easy for her to maintain but conferring a mysterious maturity Willow had never even imagined could appear on her face. Even the light amount of makeup they had used had changed the look of that face, given her cheekbones and eyes a definition that was subtly exotic, mature without being overly sensual. When she met Buffy's eyes in the mirror those eyes appeared gigantic, her shock evident to every one of the proudly observing beauticians, pleased as punch over the results of their expert handiwork.

Buffy made a big show out of trying not to look smug, knowing she was exploiting the fact that she knew which style Willow had loved the most out of the dozens they had experimented with over the years back in Sunnydale. But she needed Willow's help, and needed to make it clear that in return for her assistance Buffy could help her too, in a way that didn't offend her or make her uncomfortable. Change wasn't easy, and Buffy would soon be asking Willow to take a lot on faith, so wanted to show her that she could be trusted. But also she was getting a real kick out of transforming her friend, bringing out the beautiful woman she truly was, allowing her to finally be free of the childish look she had long since outgrown.

Following the beauty parlor it was time for clothes… and Buffy made it clear that she intended to become violent if Willow even suggested shopping at Sears. Fortunately for Willow's peace of mind, Buffy was far more willing to negotiate on the issue of clothing styles than she had been on the makeover. Of course, she was only willing to indulge in Willow's eclectic tastes so long as the styles met her standard of sophistication, drawing a firm line against anything that made her look childish. It was a word she used with deliberate condemnation, since it was pretty much guaranteed to annoy Willow enough that she would set the garment aside without too much argument. She didn't want to look like a child either. By the time they took a cab back to Willow's small apartment just off campus nearly four hours had passed, and Buffy's purse was lighter by well over $800.

Unsurprisingly, Willow almost had a coronary when she realized that what had seemed like almost playing dress up had done some serious financial damage. The small monthly stipend she received from her scholarship and any TA work she did marking undergraduate papers wouldn't come close to providing such discretionary funding. Buffy just waved aside any idea of being reimbursed. "It isn't every day I get to play fairy godmother. You must have noticed how much I enjoyed the whole thing. Besides, it was something that had to be done, the sort of challenge I was glad to take on. I just wanted to get it out of the way before I told you why I came here to see you. I figured you wouldn't feel comfortable doing it afterwards if you decide not to help me with my problem."

Willow looked suddenly nervous at the reminder that this was not a spontaneous meeting. Somehow, despite the fact that never before in her entire life had one of the Beautiful People sought her out, she had forgotten that it hadn't been just a day out with a friend. Buffy had made her so comfortable, had acted like they had known each other forever, that it came as a shock for her to realize that despite how much it seemed like they were the bestest of best buds, they had actually only met a few hours earlier.

Noticing her friend's sudden nervousness, Buffy gently patted her arm in a comforting gesture, smiling wryly. "It's not that bad, Wil. Seriously; if you tell me you can't help, I'll leave. No whining, no regrets over having spent a really good evening out shopping with a friend. The way I figure it, what I just paid would cover the consulting fee for a few hours of the time of a high-end computer genius such as yourself. So even if you can't help me, I'm not out anything. But I should warn you right now that what I'm going to tell you is going to be pretty tough to swallow. There is a good chance you won't be able to help me."

Her words weren't as reassuring as she'd hoped. Willow looked nervous as hell, fearful of having to disappoint her new friend. "Look Will, whatever happens, it's already been a really good day, for both of us. Nothing will take that away. So take your new clothes up to your apartment, change into something more suitable for a walk around campus, and come back down when you're ready. I'll wait here."

* * *

Not wanting to intimidate her old –and hopefully, new again—friend, Buffy didn't want to invade her personal space by accompanying her up to her apartment. She was partly amused, and partly saddened, by the differences she could see in this incarnation of her friend compared to the one she remembered. Granted that Sunnydale Willow hadn't had an easy time of it, especially since losing Tara. But even then, there had been a strength to her, a boundless reservoir of determination to at least _try_ to do the right thing, a strength of character she didn't see in this version. This Willow hadn't been tempered by the supernatural fires of Sunnydale. She hadn't had to face the bitter consequences of her failures either, and hadn't learned character from the experience. Sunnydale had been a hell of a ride, and even knowing where the journey would end, Buffy believed her friend had been the better for having taken the trip.

She wasn't surprised it took quite some time for Willow to reappear. It actually wouldn't have surprised her had her friend never come back down. In that event Buffy had promised herself she would honor Willow's decision and leave her alone. It would have made things difficult however, so she was genuinely relieved when the shy, nervous looking redhead finally came down the stairs, wearing new clothes, comfortable clothes which made her look far more mature than she had appeared that afternoon. It also made her seem more like the Willow Buffy remembered, and not the coddled, insulated, and naïve schoolgirl she truly was on this world. But even here she was still Willow, the brains of the Scooby gang, and Buffy desperately needed her expertise.

Announcing that she wanted to show off Willow's amazing cosmetic transformation, Buffy lightly pushed her towards campus, hoping that some of her friends would see her and be suitably astonished. Unfortunately it was getting fairly late in the day, most people had left, and to Willow's open disappointment they didn't come across anyone she knew during their walk. That still left plenty of students about, virtually all of them male, who could not help but notice two pretty young women walking along the campus walkways. Seeing all the attention they were getting, Buffy teased Willow about showing a bit more cleavage next time, smiling as her friend blushed until her face was almost the same color as her now much-lighter hair. Nobody bothered them, but Buffy kept the conversation on general topics until they reached a small park area, deserted so late in the day.

With the moment of truth at hand, Buffy sighed, trying to remember how she had rehearsed this in her head before seeking out Willow. She had completely forgotten what she was supposed to say. "What I am going to tell you will be… difficult… to believe."

Willow simply nodded, already bracing for something horrible. She had just had one of the best days of her life. She had never really had a best friend before –except for Xander, who didn't count, being a guy and all—but she'd known all along that it wasn't real, was a set-up for the disappointment to come. Girls like her simply did not attract the attentions of the Popular Crowd unless they wanted something from them, and given the extraordinary down payment she had just made, Willow figured that whatever Buffy wanted, it was going to be a doozie.

"I figure it will be easier if I just start with the part that you'll have the least difficulty believing." She waited until Willow nodded in agreement before continuing. "I am actually from an alternate universe, where, among other things, you're my best friend."

Willow abruptly paused in her slow walk, forcing Buffy to turn back to face her. There was silence for a few minutes while Willow tried to figure out how to respond. If nothing else, at least this was different than she had expected it would go. "Let me get this straight. You're saying that the claim that you're from an alternate universe is the _easy_ part to believe!"

Smiling happily, Buffy casually patted her friend's arm. "No. I'm saying the part about you and me being best friends is the part that should be easy to believe." She grinned again at the way the other girl's eyes widened at that statement of fact, at the certainty in her voice. "The part you'll probably have trouble believing is that in the other universe I'm kind of a superhero."

"Uhhhh huh." Willow wondered why she wasn't simply running away from the obviously delusional girl. Perhaps because it had been such a nice day, but likely because Buffy wasn't _acting_ crazy. If anything, she appeared amused, having known the reaction her statement was bound to receive and kind of enjoying it. "Ah, aside from the obvious, have you looked in the mirror lately? You don't really fit the image of the superhero. Not being exactly Xena-esqe, if you get my meaning. You're one of the few people I know who is actually shorter than I am."

Her grin remained, but Buffy's eyes got a bit of a hard glint in them at the reference to her height. They paused, having wandered to the deepening shadows under a large tree, and Willow caught the meaning of that glint. _'Okay, the girl is a wee bit sensitive about being among the stature-challenged.'_ That was pretty much the last thought she would be capable of making for some time, because without another word, Buffy bent her knees, and… _jumped_. Jumped up to reach a branch that had to be at least twenty-five feet above them. Catching the branch, she released one hand, casually waved at Willow down below, then using just one hand, lifted herself in a one-armed handstand, pushed up hard after holding the handstand for a few seconds, did a quintuple summersault in mid air on the way down, and landed on her feet in front of a stunned Willow, not even winded after the impossible display of athleticism.

Almost hyperventilating in shock, Willow's normally quick-witted brain was locked up, unable to process what she had just witnessed. "How… you… I can't believe… my god; how…!"

Taking pity on her, Buffy gently grasped Willow's arm and held it lightly as they resumed walking. "Comes with the package. Strength, dexterity, stamina, enhanced senses, rapid healing, the whole bit. Plays hell on my clothes, though. Normal fabrics are soooo not designed to accommodate Slayer tolerances."

"Sssss….slayer?"

"That would be me." And so it began. Buffy explained everything, holding nothing back. For the longest time Willow just let her speak, not interrupting unless absolutely necessary, letting her tell her story in her own way. It was an amazing tale, and would have been completely unbelievable had it not been for the incredible display Willow was still having a hard time believing she hadn't just imagined. Eventually she had to reign in the girl, who was so much more than she appeared on the surface. But her mind wasn't like Willow's; she was temperamental, mercurial, easily side-tracked, and wandered down tangential avenues of thought as the mood struck her. It wasn't that she lacked discipline; if even a fraction of her story were true she would have died long ago if she wasn't able to focus on the problem at hand. But without a specific threat to focus on she lacked Willow's ability to zone in exclusively on a single issue, to bring all of her formidable intelligence to bear on a single problem until it was resolved.

One thing Willow was able to figure out pretty quickly was the reason the Slayer would seek out someone like her. Although far from unintelligent, there was a barely-leashed energy to her every movement, a restless intensity which would prevent the girl from ever being able to sit down and perform all the research and investigation someone in her… profession… would need to do in order to survive. Buffy had recognized her own weakness and sought out someone who could handle the sort of work she wasn't temperamentally suited to do herself.

Willow wondered if she should be upset, that someone of her academic stature was being asked to act as sidekick to, well, a glorified cheerleader. Buffy had described them as 'best friends,' but that didn't seem to be an accurate reflection of their unequal relationship. The more Buffy spoke, however, the more Willow came to understand why her counterpart would be willing to do the grunt work for the Slayer. While the whole concept of fighting vampires seemed ludicrous, the pain in her eyes as Buffy told of battles won and friends lost was not. 'Saving the world' was not just an academic exercise to this girl; it was her _life_. A life that was brutal, pain filled, to be fought day in and day out, without pause or rest, under the full understanding that sooner or later she was doomed to fail, to die an agonized, horrific, and _lonely_ death. It was no wonder that when confronted by someone facing such a terrible destiny, Willow's counterpart had felt that she had no choice but to assist her in any way she could.

Willow felt she could do no less, if she wanted to be able to look at herself in the mirror. But she was terrified. Because it didn't take a leap of intellectual genius to figure out that Buffy had sought her out because she was back in a similar game in this reality, and needed similar help. So she had sought out her old buddy, not realizing that _this_ Willow was a frightened mouse, afraid of her own shadow, and not the battle-hardened sidekick she remembered. But unfortunately, she was all the Slayer had. If she was to be of any help at all she would need a lot more information, so she took a deep breath and started to question the girl, to go through her story point by point to pick up on the parts she hadn't understood, to fill out the broad outlines with details Buffy had just assumed she already knew.

The interrogation took hours, continuing long after the sun finally set. When she noticed that Willow was looking about nervously at the encroaching darkness, Buffy paused and shrugged. "Don't worry about what's out there. I'm a lot more dangerous than anything that might be hiding in the shadows."

By that point Willow didn't doubt her for a minute.


	8. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

**Far Beyond Normal**

**Chapter Seven**

When they finally got back to Willow's apartment, if was well past midnight. Intellectually, Willow knew she had nothing to worry about being out so late when she had what was effectively a super-powered bodyguard, but it was a culturally-ingrained response she realized Buffy did not share. One of the things she did, while listening to Buffy talk, was watch her new friend, to observe the differences in her compared to everyone else Willow knew. The way she watched the darkness. Her graceful, almost predatory stride. The poise and confidence not just in her own looks, but in _herself_. Willow knew how good she was in her chosen field, but aside from that she was pretty much afraid of everything. She would have given almost anything to feel that confident in herself, if only for a single day.

On the other hand, she didn't think it would have been worth the price of gaining such self-confidence if it meant being tortured. It shocked her to realize she could accept a world of vampires, people traveling between dimensions, and magical powers, but she just couldn't accept that her government would go around _torturing_ people. That just wasn't _done_! Buffy's demonstration had proven she wasn't lying about her physical capabilities, but there was no way to test her story about anything else connected with Sunnydale. It would be possible, however, to verify her story about being tortured. If that proved to be a lie, then she would have to reconsider how she might best help the girl. But if it was true… well then, things would quickly get interesting.

Once back in her apartment, Willow immediately sat down in front of a computer which looked souped up enough to handle the launch of a space shuttle. After Buffy's display of athletic prowess, Willow wanted to demonstrate her own mastery over her electronic domain. Unfortunately Buffy was one of a large majority of people who could appreciate the skills Willow undoubtedly possessed, but hadn't the slightest interest in the underlying details. She just wanted results.

With what looked like the familiarity of long experience, Buffy left Willow to do the work while she went over to her small kitchenette and fixed them some snacks. Without asking permission she turned on the tv and relaxed on Willow's bed, occasionally tossing out barbed comments on a random actress's dress or the stupidity of a gaping hole in the episode's plotline. Her comments were almost invariably amusing, and Willow found herself constantly giggling over the ludicrousness of many of her quips. And amazed at how comfortable she felt, how genuinely happy she was, without ever having realized that she had been unhappy before.

Until then she would have insisted that it would disturb her should someone in the background constantly interrupt her train of thought with random babbling. But somehow she found it relaxing, like it was almost familiar, like it was the way things between them were meant to be. And she needed that relaxed atmosphere, because what she was trying to do wasn't easy. She knew that State Security was just a front for a shadowy outfit known as the NID. Breaking into the computers of a terrorism-obsessed, paranoid group like the NID required a degree of technical virtuosity possessed by few people on the planet. Even fewer could do it without leaving an electronic trail that could be traced right back to them. And probably only one had access to the massive mainframes at MIT, which placed enough computational horsepower at her disposal to get the job done in less than a month. Paradoxically it was only possible for her to break into NID because they were so paranoid. NID employees weren't as conscientious about maintaining their internal security as were, say, FBI agents, simply because they were so confident that they couldn't be hacked in the first place.

It wasn't hard to understand. They used an isolated network, physically disconnected from the external internet. With no way to reach them, their computers were theoretically invulnerable. In truth, their most secure databases, the ones protected by ruthlessly-enforced active security precautions, were effectively beyond even the reach of someone with Willow's skills and resources. But Willow wasn't interested in learning the names of secret agents; she just wanted to know if they had ever heard of Buffy Summers. It almost frightened her how much she wanted to verify her friends' story, to prove that she hadn't been lying. To discover that she was destined for something more important than writing software or designing hardware which would allow someone else to run a program a few seconds faster than their competitors.

What she found in the unsecured parts of the site shocked her. They most certainly knew Buffy. Elizabeth Anne 'aka Buffy' Summers was wanted for the murder of seven State Security agents. She had seriously hurt ten more. She was a known terrorist, armed and dangerous, someone with an unstated but implied 'Shoot On Sight' message on her Wanted poster. At first Willow had frozen in shock, before she realized that Buffy hadn't lied to her about this. Had in fact told her about it; but the sheer scale of the violence her friend was capable of unleashing was intimidating. She frowned at the 'armed' part of the description. While most assuredly dangerous, Buffy didn't have a gun and hadn't shown any need for one. When she looked up the hospital records of the agents she had merely injured she couldn't help but note that the three who had been shot had all been hit with .38 bullets… the kind fired by the weapons issued to NID agents.

Which didn't prove she was innocent, but did prove Buffy's story had been consistent. She hadn't lied about being in the asylum for much of her life in this universe, nor that it had been her father who turned her in to State Security. When she read that her mother had demanded a divorce and moved out of their house the very day of her capture Willow passed along the news, earning just a grunt in reaction from the Slayer. So she kept digging.

* * *

Buffy didn't need much sleep, explaining to Willow that she could get in a good six hours a night when nothing was going on, but when she was 'working' she could go days without requiring any sleep at all. Right then she wasn't only working, she was having prophetic dreams concerning the end of the world every time she did try to rest. Those dreams frightened her, and anything that could frighten Buffy terrified Willow. Much of the focus of her investigation changed from verifying Buffy's story to figuring out the meaning behind images of pyramid-shaped starships, Egyptian hieroglyphics, and a ring filled with a silvery shimmer, like water somehow being suspended at ninety degrees. There was something familiar about what she described, rumors she had been hearing whispered among other staff at MIT, private conversations which abruptly ceased whenever those she was overhearing realized that Willow had been listening.

With Buffy insisting that her prophetic dreams were almost certain to come true, Willow started to get a pretty good idea of what life had been like for her counterpart. It terrified her, the knowledge that Buffy was depending on her, that the survival of the _entire world_ might be dependant on her skills. The fear that she might not be up to the task. The new-found determination that she would be.

It was that fierce determination her colleagues noticed most over the next few days. When she showed up at her office and classes the day after her makeover the reaction had been everything she could have hoped for. The astonishment. The complete and abrupt reassessment of her as a woman. The attention from people whose attention she had once desperately wanted. But once the shock wore off it was the change in attitude most people commented on. The new self confidence and the fierce intensity she had previously lacked outside of her work.

Under different circumstances she would have been having the time of her life. Even under the present circumstances she thought she might be happier than she had ever been. She had asked for some time off from her classes to pursue some personal research, and her PhD advisor had granted it without hesitation. Professors she had been too shy to approach suddenly sought her out. The work she was doing was challenging but incredibly fascinating. And each evening Buffy would take her out to dinner, ask about her day, and then regale her with anecdotes about their adventures back in Sunnydale. It was only when they were walking back to her apartment that Willow filled Buffy in on the results of her investigation, what little she had been able to piece together; the rumor that out in Colorado a secret project was absorbing the talents of many of MIT's best and brightest.

Unable to sleep, Buffy didn't stay in Willow's apartment most nights after the first day. She left on what she called a 'patrol,' too restless to sit still while Willow worked almost non-stop at her computers. Willow missed her sharp wit, but understood why the restless Slayer needed to get out. In a way she was even happy about it, as it showed how much Buffy trusted her. After all, while she was away there was nothing to prevent Willow from calling State Security at any time to report her. But by then they both knew Willow wasn't going to. She had already made her choice, even without iron-clad evidence to back it up. Her virtual worms were still twisting their way into the NID computers, still undetected, still searching out the evidence that would prove Buffy's story. But even without it, Willow had already begun her research seeking the meaning behind the Slayer's prophetic dreams. She simply liked the person she had become since meeting Buffy too much to go back to being the obsessed technophile she had been before falling into her orbit.

So she worked while Buffy went out and did whatever it was she did, and Willow didn't ask what that was. She really didn't want to know. By then she knew that even in a city the size of Boston there wasn't much out there her friend couldn't handle. Given the serious amount of coin Buffy had in her purse, and lack of the more usual marketable skills, Willow had a pretty good idea how she had come into her financial windfall. But she had also seen enough of her friend to know that not only would the person she took it from have deserved the loss, but would have likely been the most dangerous person she could find. Nothing else would have been a suitable challenge for the Slayer.

* * *

It would have amazed Willow to realize what Buffy had actually been doing in the four nights since she had started patrolling. She had enough money for her needs already, and after reaching the conclusions she had on the bus she was not willing to tempt insanity by pushing her luck just to pad her stash. Mostly she just wandered about in her restlessness, checking out various parts of the city, keeping an eye out for trouble but not actively seeking it. Eventually, however, she realized what she had until then been only unconsciously seeking.

It hadn't even been that hard to find her.

There really wasn't any excuse for not seeking her out. Ever since she came back to Sunnydale to help them out in their battle with the First, Buffy's long-standing animosity towards Faith had pretty much disappeared. And it wasn't like she was going out of her way to visit her, what with Faith living right there in Boston. Nor was it very hard to locate her. If she hadn't been stupid enough to follow the trial obsessively, if only to verify that the bitch really had gotten what was coming to her, Buffy would have had the excuse of not knowing her last name, since Faith had never once mentioned it. But the newspapers had, and Buffy couldn't pretend she didn't remember.

Had she had anything better to do, any excuse not to visit her, Buffy would never have sought out her counterpart. They weren't friends, and on this world Faith wasn't a Slayer so couldn't contribute to preventing the coming apocalypse. Okay, she admitted to herself that at first they had been friends, and maybe things between them might have gone differently had Angel not… well, had things gone differently. But they hadn't, and Faith become resentful, had tried to kill her entire family, and Buffy wasn't big on forgiveness. Unless it was her friends, like Willow. Who, it had to be admitted, had also become resentful and tried to kill her family…

But that was different.

Scowling at everything, hoping the apocalypse she could feel approaching quickly would get on with it, Buffy looked up her name in the phone book. It was there, and by then Buffy had seen enough of Boston to know that the address listed was in pretty much the worst part of the bad side of town. She recalled bringing up the subject of family back when Faith had first showed up in Sunnydale, and how the other Slayer had made it unequivocally clear that she did not wish to talk about the people who had contributed genetic material, but had absolutely no other connection to her. The rage in her eyes, in her voice, spoke of a childhood of abject horror, and Buffy had never again brought up the subject.

It wasn't a subject she wanted to think about even now. Other people had overcome bad childhoods, and Buffy did not want to waste her time feeling sorry for Faith. She reminded herself of that fact as she made her way to the seedy neighborhood where this world's version of Faith probably still lived. In truth 'seedy' was too nice a word to describe the place: 'third-world shithole' would probably have been more accurate. Not a fun place to have grown up in.

But she was _not_ going to feel sorry for Faith, dammit. Life was tough; suck it up, biatch.

By then it was getting fairly late, nearly one in the morning, but there was still a lot of noise coming from the old, run down apartment buildings lining the street. A baby crying, a shouting match, a small crowd yelling encouragement at a fight going on in the weed-filled 'lawn' in front of one of the large houses randomly located between the century-old tenement buildings. Cars were parked along the street, some of them looking like they hadn't been moved in decades. Garbage was everywhere; the smell was horrendous. Buffy silently apologized to third-world shitholes everywhere for the unflattering comparison. She kept to the shadows, moving with the silence of the predator she was, unseen even by the dogs scavenging among the back alleyways.

But she was _not_ _going to feel sorry for Faith_!

When she finally located the proper address, the neighborhood had changed a bit, tenements giving way to single- and multi-unit dwellings, most in even worse shape than the larger tenement buildings because the had been built with even cheaper materials. Faith's house was too decrepit to be called a shack. The glass in most of the windows was broken, and some of them had been covered in plywood. What paint there once was had long since faded, but sprayed graffiti decorated all of the walls. Some light was faintly visible behind a few unwashed windows, but the grime was so thick that nothing inside the house could be seen. The whole place reeked of the smell of motor oil, dog feces, and cigarette smoke.

Okay. She was starting to feel just a bit sorry for Faith.

There were three cars parked on the street in front of the house, brand new vehicles in perfect condition, standing out from the local wrecks like peacocks among crows. The blinking blue lights of their security systems provided more illumination that the single low-wattage bulb hanging nakedly from a wire atop the front door of the house. Buffy could not even imagine why vehicles such as those would be present in such a god-forsaken neighborhood. But her spider-sense was tingling, and she intended to find out.

Jumping up to the second story of the house while hidden in the shadows, Buffy caught the window sill and silently lifted the unlocked window. Working her way inside she listened carefully for any sign of life before making her way from the empty bedroom, down a short hall, to stop and stare into another bedroom. Inside, lying on a sagging bed on top of dirty sheets, was a woman who was lost in a drug-induced stupor, saliva dripping down her mouth, showing rotting teeth and the hideous hollow facial structure of those so addicted to heroin that they were beyond hope. Her hair was already grey, her body thinner than even Buffy had been when she escaped into the desert. But from the set of her cheekbones, the color of her bloodshot eyes, Buffy suspected that this was Faith's mother.

Silently backing out of the room, Buffy knew there wasn't much need to be quiet, that a marching brass band wouldn't have disturbed the woman, but she was so horrified by the scene that she didn't want to take any chances. Making her way down to the main floor she saw old, broken living room furniture, a messy kitchen, dishes from the past week stacked in the sink… but no people. There wasn't much light, but enough for her eyes to make out the door hidden in even deeper shadow, and she suspected that what she sought was behind it. And suspected even more that she really, _really_ did _not_ want to look behind that door. Not if she ever again wanted to not feel sorry for Faith.

She didn't know what it was that was setting off every one of her internal alarms, but as she carefully made her way over to the door Buffy realized she was in full Slayer mode, her senses on full alert, adrenaline flooding her system in preparation for a fight. And then she heard what before she had only subconsciously perceived; a muffled shout, a voice calling out for someone to 'stop,' a desperate cry for help that the person calling out didn't expect would ever arrive.

Faith's voice.

It would have been a lot smarter to plan ahead, to assess the situation and form an optimal strategy; but Buffy wasn't thinking right about then. Kicking in the door, following its wreckage without even a pause for the shattered splinters to clear, she jumped down the short flight of stairs without touching even one. Two bodyguards, still reaching for their guns, went down in seconds, crushed by blows that would have dropped even master vampires. Both were sent flying, until they crashed into the basement walls ten feet behind them. Not pausing for an instant, Buffy moved with Slayer speed to her left, where the cameraman was only then looking up, but would not have enough time to reach for his gun when the Slayer simply ran into him, her small frame driven by such force he was knocked back even further than the first two, if only because there was more space between him and the wall behind him.

By then she had reached the bed, bathed in floodlights, the naked old man on top of a terrified Faith only then trying to get off her, his pasty-white, flabby skin hanging down even lower than his small erect penis. The man had to be in his sixties, his movements slowed by excitement and age and booze and viagra, so he wasn't able to get out of the way of the foot Buffy aimed at his balls with enough force to smash through a brick wall. His high-pitched scream of unendurable agony had barely begun when Buffy simply jumped over him, racing to the final bodyguard, who unlike his companions had been given enough time to draw his weapon. But he was still in shock by the speed of events, not able to comprehend what had just happened or how fast Buffy could move, and by the time he fired she was already somewhere else. Grabbing the gun, and the hand holding it, Buffy swung him around to meet a basement support column face-first. The crunch of breaking bones could be heard even over the continuing screams coming from the old man.

Which left just one of them. He had been left for last because he was sitting, and was unarmed. And she suspected, from his pimp-like appearance and ratty clothing, that he wasn't an outsider, perhaps was even Faith's father. The shocked expression on his face revealed bad teeth, greasy hair combed straight back in an attempt to conceal a balding pate. He was trying to get up from the chair which had been placed out of the way to the side of the cameraman, and Buffy helped him up by grabbing his shirt with one hand and hauled him bodily from the chair, other fist already coming forward to meet his face. To meet it several times. Real hard.

Dropping the unconscious greaseball, her fist covered in blood from his shattered nose and jaw, Buffy only then looked back towards the bed, where a naked Faith was looking at her with the same shocked, terrified expression as the others had given her before being introduced to her fists. She looked like she would have liked to have been able to run, likely more afraid of her than she had been of the old man, but she was tied to the bed, sprawl-eagle fashion, naked and helpless. Beside her was a small table, where unfamiliar implements Buffy didn't want to ever be able to recognize glistened with reflected light from the floods. Moving over to the table and grabbing a long serrated blade, Buffy swiftly cut away the restraining ropes, but was still too angry to pause and attempt to reassure the undoubtedly terrified girl. "Get dressed. We're out of here."

"_What_! Who the fuck are you!"

The voice was Faith's, smoky and sensual even in these circumstances. But the girl was young, even younger than she had been when she first showed up in Sunnydale; another oddity Buffy didn't have time to ponder. "Does it matter? Is there _anything_ I can do to you that would be worse than staying here?" Not even looking back to see if the girl followed her instructions, Buffy went over to each of the men lying in various degrees of unconsciousness around the basement and cleaned out their pockets. She found a plastic bag and tossed everything into it; wallets, keys, various and assorted weapons. By the time she had collected it all Faith had almost finished putting on her clothing. Picking up the camera, Buffy didn't look at her as she crushed it in her hands. "Does this happen often?"

She didn't think Faith was going to answer, until finally, her voice more under control, Faith admitted this wasn't the first time. "Its how they pay for the drugs." She didn't add any more and Buffy didn't ask.

"Go upstairs and put everything you need into a bag. If that fat old prick can afford four bodyguards, chances are there are others who will be keeping a pretty close eye on him. We need to be out of here in a hurry."

Nodding, already almost back in control, Faith started to move towards the stairs before pausing, then abruptly turned back to face the writhing old man who had been raping her… and who had intended to do a lot worse. His hand were covering his genitals, agonized whimpering coming from his mouth, his eyes shut against the all-enveloping pain. Faith looked down on him for a few seconds before suddenly kicking out, likely shattering his fingers, and not doing a whole lot of good to his testicles either. Only then did she walk by Buffy and up the stairs.

Following the girl all the way up to the second floor, Buffy returned to the empty bedroom and jumped from the window, searching for any additional guards. It didn't take her long to find one, despite the way he hid in the shadows, his expensive suit completely out of place in the decrepit neighborhood. He never saw her as Buffy silently snuck up behind him and almost casually knocked him unconscious. After cleaning out his pockets she made her way back to the cars, grabbing a set of keys from the bag, and pressed the button. One vehicle beeped, so she opened the door, and tossed in the bag, before bringing up the knife she had brought up from the basement.

It only took a minute for her to slash all of the tires on the other cars, and she returned to the working vehicle, got in, and turned it on. While waiting for Faith to arrive she removed the cellular phones from the bag, crushing them and tossing them onto the street. Only a few minutes later Faith left the house, ran over to the running vehicle, jumped into the passenger seat, and tossed a small pack into the back seat. Without turning on the lights Buffy put the car in gear and hit the gas, not quite able to hit the speeds she had on the road to Vegas, but obviously going far faster than Faith –or anyone else—would have considered safe, given the fact that most of the street lights weren't working and there was other traffic on the roads.

She didn't know where she was going, but knew where she wanted to end up, so trusted her internal compass to keep her heading in the right direction as she bombed down side streets and back alleyways at speeds a normal driver would have considered insane even on major highways. Once, passing through a major street while driving between two alleys, they barely missed cars traveling in both directions, their blacked-out vehicle invisible until the very last second to the other cars. By that point Faith had had enough, and screamed for her to slow down and turn on the damned lights. To her surprise, Buffy did as she demanded.

"Who the hell are you?"

Scaring Faith by looking away from the road, despite still traveling way too fast for anyone else to consider safe given the road conditions, she finally introduced herself. "I'm Buffy."

That earned her a hard look. "You're joking."

Pouting at the familiar response to her name, Buffy merely said that she wasn't.

"So what the hell is your story? Are you like some bounty hunter or hired assassin out to waste those assholes?"

"No. I was… well, I was kinda just in the neighborhood."

"What the fuck! You do shit like that a lot?"

"Not like _that_. That was pretty gross, actually. I can't believe anyone would…"

She left it there, and Faith let the subject drop. Despite being from the area she was completely lost, but the girl driving… '_Buffy! WTF?_'… seemed to know where she was going. And a few minutes later she realized where they were as well, suddenly coming out on a major artery that connected with every major highway out of the city. Faith hadn't even known you could get to this road the way Buffy had done it. And in about half the time it should have taken.

"Where are we going?" Once Faith thought about it, the name 'Buffy' suited the other girl; a golden princess, almost certainly the pampered, privileged offspring of American nobility. But she had to give the girl credit; she sure had the moves, and so far had come up with a pretty good plan of action, doing as good a job at covering their trail as could be done considering she was making it up on the fly. Faith knew that left to her own devices, she would have fucked everything up about six times already. She was more than happy to leave the thinking to the princess. In fact, she hoped never to have to think again in her entire life.

She should have known that Edgar was planning on something. He had been too nice, especially in not freaking out when the stupid bitch took enough junk to drop an elephant. But she hadn't seen it coming, had thought he had been intimidated by her threats to kill him in his sleep if it ever happened again. Looking back, she saw her mistake. The fucking cops had brought her back every time she ran away, thanks to federal 'Family Protection Laws' that in her case meant 'fucked by your family' laws. But she was getting better at it, and given that she would soon turn 17 chances were the cops wouldn't look too hard for her next time. And she knew that old man Rutherford wanted her bad. Sonuvabitch would have offered Edgar a lot for her, and good old Edgar probably figured it was his last chance to get something for her before she finally disappeared for good.

Faith smiled then, her eyes hard as nails. But they never saw the Buffinator coming! Fuck, Faith still couldn't believe it. Rutherford had good security, but the princess had gone through them like shit through a goose. Faith had never seen anyone move that fast, hit that hard, or figure out what to do next so quickly. The princess was so tiny Faith was pretty sure that Rutherford shat turds bigger than her, but fuck, was she ever hell on wheels when the chips were down! So Faith figured she'd let her do the thinking. As rescuers went she wasn't likely to find one better; not that anyone else had been exactly volunteering for the job. As tired and messed up as she was right now, she was perfectly willing to do pretty much anything Buffy asked.

To her surprise, however, the girl was pulling the car over to the side of the road. "Can you drive?"

"Me? Sure."

"Good. You take the car. Don't take it too far; not as far as New York. Park it on the street in a residential neighborhood. Take a bus and head west. Don't go all the way at once; take your time. Use cash for everything. If you've got a bank card get to a machine right now and empty it, then throw away the card. I'd suggest going all the way to LA. With your looks Vegas would have been better, you'd have been able to get a job there easy, but my bet is that the old guy had mob connections so you don't want to mess with their town. Change your look, your name, everything. Never forget that they'll be looking for you."

Faith was stunned, her hope that salvation was at hand suddenly dashed. "_No_! I want to go with you!"

Buffy shook her head, unable to bear Faith's expression. "You can't. The cops are after me. The feds, _everybody_ is after me. And when those jerks back there start talking everyone will know I'm here. There aren't a whole lot of other people who look like me and can do what I just did. There's pretty much a death warrant out on me, and I'm not going to put you in the middle of it. I won't have that on my conscience."

The pleading in Faith's eyes tore her heart. But there was no way she would risk getting her killed. That would have put Faith ahead on points in their little 'blame game' and nothing was worth _that_. But Faith didn't realize it, and reached over to grab Buffy's arm. "_Please_. I've tried to get away before, tried a bunch of times! I'm _no good_ at it; they always find me, they always bring me back! You know what you're doing, you can take care of yourself when they come for you in the dark. I don't; I _can't_! Please. I'll do anything you want… _anything_."

It was the second time Buffy had been propositioned by a woman in a week. She wondered if she was giving off a vibe she didn't know about. But this time it was Faith doing it, and Faith had always been able to do something to her that no other woman could. There was an innate sensuality to her, a sexiness that even other women recognized, and responded to. She remembered, back in the beginning, when Faith first arrived in Sunnydale, the subtle --and sometimes not so subtle-- hints that their relationship could have progressed in a direction she wouldn't ordinarily have considered. But it was Faith… and she had been tempted. Until Angel made a better offer. But she had always wondered what might have happened if…

Breaking off that line of thought, Buffy again shook her head, trying to pry her gaze away from Faith's pleading eyes. "The people after me are above the law. They will do anything, kill anyone, destroy anything that gets in their way. With them after me, even if everything goes well I'll probably be dead in a week. If I try to protect you I wouldn't last a day. _We_ wouldn't last a day. I'm sorry Faith, but if we stay together we're dead. If we travel separately we both might have a chance to survive."

The girl looked momentarily confused. "You know my name."

Inwardly scowling as the slip, Buffy just shrugged. "_All_ I know is your name. I don't know _who_ you are, or what you've been through before tonight, what your dreams are or what you hope to become. I don't know _you_. And I'm not willing to get you killed to learn any of that. I'm sorry. I wish I could help you, but I can't even help myself. No matter how bad things might get on your own, they'd be worse if you were with me." Reaching into the back seat, Buffy grabbed the bag and started going through the wallets, dropping wads of cash into Faith's surprised hands. There was a lot of it… more than two thousand dollars, but to her amazement Buffy frowned. It wasn't enough. Reaching into her jacket pocket she pulled out a thick wad of twenties and tossed them into the pile.

"Jeezus, Buf! You can't give me all your money!"

"I've got enough. And you'll need it."

Her expression changed, excitement over having actual money giving way to understanding the meaning behind it. The smaller girl wasn't messing with her; she really _was_ doing everything she could to help her survive. Nobody had ever helped Faith before, not without expecting something in return. And she had made it pretty clear to the princess that she was more than willing to pay her in the coin most people expected. Even that had been rejected; although Faith had a pretty good idea the other girl had been at least a little bit tempted. But the rejection hadn't been due to a rejection of _her_, just a realization that it simply wasn't the best strategy, and Faith wasn't used to thinking in terms of anything except immediate gratification. "If they know you're here, why don't you come with me, at least for a couple of days? I could go places you can't if they know what you look like and don't have a picture of me. We could be a team, right B?"

The princess had been smiling just a bit, but her expression froze when Faith called her 'B,' a look of sadness and regret passing so quickly Faith almost missed it. Her green eyes were so expressive, her delicate face so open, that virtually every feeling in her heart was reflected in her eyes. How that was possible in someone capable of such violence Faith could not begin to fathom. If _she_ were able to kick ass like the blonde could, she'd be cold, unemotional, like one of those chicks in video games whose expression never changed, win or lose… and it was thinking irrelevant shit like that which always caused Faith to screw things up, because she couldn't keep her mind on the problem at hand. "C'mon, B! We'd be _great_!"

Sadly shaking her head, Buffy said "We'd be dead…" and got out of the car. Sighing in frustration, knowing that the other girl had made up her mind, Faith moved into the drivers' seat.

Looking out at her sadly, Faith tried to hold back the tears she could feel gathering. "I'd really rather stay with you, B. I don't know anyone in LA. Or anywhere else, really. I've known you maybe fifteen minutes and you're pretty much the best friend I've ever had."

The sadness in her tone tore at Buffy's heart. After thinking about it for a minute, she decided telling her wouldn't really make much difference. "There are things I have to finish here before I can leave. But as soon as I can get out of here I'll be heading to Colorado."

For a second Faith just looked at her, studying her. And then suddenly, without warning, she reached out and kissed her. Frozen in place –in shock, Buffy told herself— neither moved for a minute before she was able to pull back a bit. Noticing the reaction she had gotten, which partially revived her flagging confidence, Faith gave her the same cocky grin Buffy remembered so well, winked at her, then turned the key. "Then that's where I'm going. Look me up when you get there."

The car slowly pulled away from the curb. Neither felt the need to say anything else.


	9. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

**Far Beyond Normal**

**Chapter Eight**

Buffy didn't exactly lie to Willow, but she didn't tell her the full and complete details either. From her description Willow was able to track down Mr. Rutherford… Rutherford Vasilonovich, an 'alleged' big wheel in the Russian mafia… and grow truly frightened at the hornet's nest her friend had kicked over. Nobody had been able to prove that the man was mob-connected, but nobody doubted it either. He was 'rumored' to have connections with all the fun activities: drugs, loan sharking, prostitution; all the best things in life. When she read the hospital report Willow literally winced, not feeling sorry the man, but worried for her friend. A man like him was not going to accept such horrendous damage to his person and prestige without retaliating.

The loss of prestige was probably the more serious. To demonstrate the extent of his injuries the police had taken pictures of his massively swollen and discolored testicles and emailed the images to, well, pretty much everyone they had ever met in their entire lives. Their clinically-accurate, detailed description of the injury and its likely long-term consequences was figuratively drenched in crocodile tears. They had also pulled some video from the broken camera on site, and had pretty clear evidence for rape, and suspected that would have been just the beginning… 'Rutherford' was suspected of starring in several snuff films, under-aged girls being brutally murdered for his perverted pleasure.

At first the local police had been pretty up front about it, flatly accusing the man of being a pervert, a mobster, and a monster, who had gotten what he deserved. By morning however the feds got involved, and suddenly 'new evidence' was claimed but never shown which indicated that the rich old man was being set up by twisted teenaged anarchists, the images on the tape faked, the supposed 'rape' actually staged. The girl, Faith Lehane, was a known trouble-maker and drug addict, and somehow she had fallen in with known mass murderer and escape artist Elizabeth Summers. There was also the implication that there were others in the 'gang,' at least one of whom was a computer expert who had created the fake images on the digital tape.

Willow just about freaked when she heard that last part, feeling it was only a matter of minutes until armed, battle-gear wearing SWAT teams burst through her doors and windows. Not nearly as intimidated, Buffy just snorted. "They use 'hackers' as an excuse for everything, Wil. Images on tape? A hacker faked it. No images on the tape? A hacker destroyed it. Most people are intimidated by computers and will believe anything they are told. It's the new Salem witch hunts. If it ever went to trial they'd be laughed out of court, which is why they have all those wonderful new laws that mean they don't actually have to prove any of it _in_ court anymore. Don't worry about it, Wil. They don't know about you. I've been keeping my head down so I'm fairly sure not too many of your neighbors know I'm here, and chances are pretty slim that anyone will recognize me from the pictures they're showing. We've still got lots of time before they even begin to drag you into this."

"How can you be _sure_! I'm not like you, Buffy; I'm not going to be able to stand up to them. I don't think I could survive what they did to you."

The small blonde girl just shrugged, not looking away from the tv. "Experience." She scowled in memory. "Don't mistake it for tactical genius. I made that mistake once, and got burned bad. But I was a Slayer for seven years, I've seen pretty much everything at one time or another, and usually I learned from my mistakes. In a situation like this experience counts for a lot. I thing I know what they're doing. They're trying to panic me, trying to force me into making a mistake. Chances are they think I've left town with Faith. I hope I didn't send her to the wolves by making her go off by herself. I _think_ they'll concentrate all their resources on finding her, giving me some elbow room, but they'll be afraid to touch her once they figure out that I'm not with her. Even those assholes would find it difficult to put a 16 year old kid on a secret trial if there is nothing to link her to me. I hope."

Willow was going over the information in her head, running through everything Buffy had told her. State Security had legal cover for what they had done to _her_; she had been in her parents' custody, and they --well, her father at least-- had turned her over to them of his own free will. For the most part it was still a free country, and if the Lehane girl was located, they would not want to put her on trial and have her story told to a press which was only mostly cowed by State Security and its NID overlords. But she was also uncomfortably aware that it could be interpreted as Buffy using the girl as a diversion, without being certain she wasn't exposing the kid to the same sort of horrific treatment she had been subjected to by the new internal police force.

She didn't want to think that her friend was capable of such cold-blooded calculation, but Willow recognized there was a hardness to the seemingly innocent girl, a toughness which would let her put others at risk if she felt the rewards justified it. That didn't make her an evil person, just a driven one, and Willow once again had to wonder how much she herself was being manipulated. In truth she still hadn't confirmed _any_ of Buffy's story about what she claimed had happened to her while in NID custody in Nevada. But even though she was trying to be just a bit paranoid, in her heart she didn't really doubt any part of what Buffy had told her. When she described what had happened, her rage had been too obvious, her emotions too close to the surface, for it to be faked. No one was that good an actor.

Besides, the consequences of being caught in a lie were too high. Buffy herself had been pretty clear about the sort of wrath Willow's counterpart in Sunnydale had been capable of unleashing when she felt she was being abused. Willow had been amazed to discover that she was capable of such rage, and Buffy didn't want to push her into proving it to herself the hard way. "So you're using her as a diversion?"

After thinking it through, Willow made extra effort to have it come out as a question, not an accusation, but Buffy scowled anyway. At herself though, not at her friend. "She couldn't stay here. That would have been suicide. She couldn't stay with me either; that would have been worse. I also needed State Security to concentrate on her, because I don't want them to look too hard for _you_. The doctors at the looney bin thought you were an 'imaginary friend' they wanted me to kill, so from what I remember their notes only referred to you as 'Willow R.' I don't want them looking too hard to find out who the 'R' might be, and for now they won't if Faith makes a better target. She's street-smart. I _think_ she'll be able to lead them on a pretty merry chase. Hopefully she'll be enough trouble that the police will have to make some noise to track her down, which should hold off the Russian mob. If we can fix this thing with the aliens then I'll be in a position to help her, to call off the dogs. And if we can't stop them… well, I guess the police will be the least of her problems then."

It was a harsh decision, but Willow had come to understand that those were the sort of calls the Slayer had been forced to make for much of her life. Willow wondered what she would have been like, had she been called upon to make similarly harsh decisions, choices which might mean the difference between life and death for complete strangers, and had been forced to do so from a time when she was little more than a child. It would change a person; either kill them or make them harder, the way war changed people.

That was when if sank in, when she finally understood what made her friend tick; the girl was _at war_, had been since she was 15 years old, and would be until she finally lost a battle that some being of godlike power didn't figure was worth bringing her back to life from, and could finally die.

Willow's only experience with war was what she saw at the movies, and the 'war on terror' which had been called after the destruction of the World Trade Center, Pentagon, and Capital buildings. She knew, intellectually, what it did to people, but she had never really faced it herself. Buffy faced it, every single day, and made the sort of decisions that only other soldiers who had experienced the hideous furnace of battle could understand. Willow knew how important she was to her friend, how vital it was that she uncover the information the Slayer needed so she could make those decisions. Lives depended on her choices. Even when she made the right call, lives would have been lost. And nobody made the right call 100 of the time.

For a second she had to close her eyes in sympathetic pain, understanding the internal horrors her friend would have had to endure every time a stranger was lost, a friend lost… a battle lost. The pain, the mental anguish, the strength of character it would take to endure, to fight on… to face the possibility of losing every time she went out, but going out anyway. And she understood why the vampire Spike had told Buffy that 'every Slayer has a death wish.' It was amazing that any of them could endure it at all. Willow doubted she could have… but didn't doubt that if she could, she would have been forced to turn into someone who didn't have even the faintest resemblance to the person she was now, simply to be able to endure.

Placing her hand on her friends shoulder, Willow squeezed, her fingers barely making any dent in the rock hard muscles hidden underneath deceptively fragile shoulders. Evidence or not, Willow knew whose side she was on. She was no longer even going to pretend she hadn't already made her decision. "The military has a unit called StarGate Command. They found a way to travel to other worlds, to cross the galaxy… and they found an enemy waiting there…"

* * *

Her explanation took hours, many of the details she uncovered only educated guesswork, speculation based on stories compiled from a thousand sources. Many of them --some of the most important ones, in fact- had been right under her nose at MIT, secret military work going on in half a dozen faculties, involving a hundred scientists. Buffy asked a lot of questions, trying to work her 'vision' into the framework Willow was now able to provide, their agile minds looking at the problem from different viewpoints, different experiences. While showing her friend some of the files she had found online Willow was shaken by a sense of _deja-vu_, an understanding that this had been something routine for her counterpart and the Slayer, two young women, with no link to the movers-and-shakers whom people assumed ran the world, who were effectively deciding the fate of the human race. It was not a pleasant feeling.

Everyone made choices. Even hard choices. One of the benefits of democracy was the freedom to choose someone else to make the hardest of the hard choices. Most people didn't have the time or expertise –or desire—to make such decisions, where life and death depended on the outcome or any given choice. But Buffy had been given a responsibility, less a gift than a burden, and had been put in a position where she was the one who had to make the call. And so she, and her best friend, went through all the information they had, trying to decide what options were available… which they would choose… and who would live and who would die.

* * *

Buffy knew that it was time to leave Boston. Time was running out, the heat was on as the police stepped up efforts to locate her, and she had what she had come to the city to find. Still, there was something left to do. Some decisions were not life or death; but in their own way were just as important. She owed Willow a debt, not only for the work she had done for her, the information she had provided, or the trust she had shown. A debt of friendship… of choice. So while zipping up her small pack, preparing to take her leave, she turned to her friend and gestured for them both to sit down. "Before I go, I need to tell you something else. I need to tell you about Willow Rosenberg…."

* * *

Four days passed after their final, stunning talk. Willow wondered if she was still in shock, or if she had truly lost her mind. Nothing else would explain what she was doing in this godforsaken place, why she hadn't even been able to wait 48 hours before renting a car and driving a thousand miles just to find out if Buffy had lied to her. Or if she was just _hoping_ that Buffy had lied to her. Or if she was lying to herself about what she hoped she would find.

The town barely registered on the map, only a few dozen houses, a gas station, a small restaurant. It was 'rural' the way Mayberry had been rural on that old tv show… although civilization has arrived in that several of the houses had small satellite dishes on their roofs. But nobody could mistake the fact that time had passed this town by; the cars were old, the buildings were old… the people were old. Junked vehicles scavenged for parts, cooped chicken; the random detritus of people who had become self-sufficient out of necessity, not choice. To Willow the town was as far from her world as was anything the people at the SGC could reach in their star gate, and she tried not to imagine she was a cultural anthropologist visiting head hunting tribes in New Guinea. It wasn't fair to these people, and wasn't true anyway. The headhunters didn't have guns. Pretty much everyone she saw in town did.

The car was the new VW Beetle, the kind of cute car she would have liked to own if she could have afforded to own a car, but what would have fit in on the streets of any major city on the eastern seaboard stuck out like a sore thumb among the trucks and old beaters that were the only vehicles she could see in this part of the country. From the attention she received when she stopped to fill up with gas, strangers were not a familiar sight in this neck of the woods either. The attention made her uncomfortable. For about the ten millionth time she wondered what she was doing here.

"Are you lost, little lady?" The gas attendant was an elderly man, friendly enough, his curiosity honest and open.

His honesty made Willow feel like a fraud. "Just passing through."

The lie appeared to capture his attention, reminding her once again that 'hick' did not mean 'stupid.' "Not much of anything else around here to be passing through to."

Willow was trying to think of something else to say when she saw her, running towards them down a dirt trail, being chased by a furious-looking man who looked to be not much older than the girl, but signs of an imminent paunch already slowing him down. His face was beet red with rage, obvious even though he was still quite some distance from them, the stout stick he was waving an obvious threat. The gas station attendant saw it too, and his eyes narrowed in disgust. "Goddammit Donny, you no-good…" He fell silent, his eyes turning to the small woman watching the approaching pair with an expression of bemused, embarrassed interest. "That'll be five dollars for the gas, miss. You probably don't want to stick around. That lil' bastard is not quite all there, if you catch my meaning, and I wouldn't put it past him to do something stupid to your car. Or you."

His customer did not seem to be in any hurry to take his advice, although she passed over the bill she had already taken out of her purse without looking away from the two people running towards them. By then the fear on the approaching girls face could be clearly seen, and suddenly Willow jumped into her car, turned it on and opened the passenger door just as the girl, who appeared to be exhausted, reached them.

"Get in!"

With a quick glance over her shoulder the young woman decided to take her up on the offer, a profanity-laden tirade being yelled by the approaching man convincing her to risk getting in the car with a complete stranger. They were in motion before she had even shut the door, and for a few minutes she simply sat there motionless, sucking in deep breaths, barely able to get enough air due to fear, exhaustion, and what felt like an imminent nervous breakdown. Only when she realized that they had already left the town did she look over at the driver, amazed that it had taken her so long to notice the woman. Being threatened by her alcoholic brother was a daily occurrence: being rescued by quite possibly the most beautiful woman on the face of the Earth was not. "Y-y-y-y-you c-c-c-c-can d-d-d-drop me off at the n-n-next corner p-p-p-please."

She closed her eyes, mortified by the stutter. It was bad at the best of times; worse when trying to talk to strangers. Almost overwhelming when trying to say anything to _attractive_ strangers. Under ordinary circumstances, when dealing with a tiny, slim, beautiful, red-headed goddess like her rescuer, it would have made conversation impossible. Would have, had she actually stopped the car. When they just kept on going, annoyance allowed her to gain some control over her voice. "Uh, I s-s-said you can d-d-drop me off here, p-p-p-please."

The driver turned to look at her for a second, and if the profile view had been beautiful, face-on she was even more stunning. Incredible eyes, Cupid-bow lips, wonderful bone structure… she was so stunning it took a few seconds for the girl to process her words when she finally responded. "I'm not going to let you go."

Naturally, she assumed the goddess meant she was worried about her safety, given the fact that she had just rescued her from what looked like a possibly severe beating by a raving lunatic. "I-I-I'll be f-f-f-fine. He w-w-won't do anything s-s-serious to m-m-me."

The beautiful red-head gave her passenger a look that not only expressed her grave doubts about that, but her equally grave doubts about what that statement implied about her sanity. "Define 'serious.' But it doesn't really matter anyway. This isn't a rescue. This is a _kidnapping_!"

She gave a cute, self-congratulatory smile at the end of her statement, so it took a second for it to sink through and be processed by her dazzled passenger. "A k-k-_kidnapping_?"

Without looking over at her the driver gave a quick nod, searching the road ahead for the turn off that would eventually bring them to the main road and from there to the interstate. "Uh huh. Not the way I planned on this happening, but hey! I can adapt!"

She seemed so proud of herself, so pleased with the situation, that the other girl –now kidnap victim—couldn't find it in herself to feel even the slightest concern over the situation, despite how strange it was. "Ummm… w-w-we don't have any m-m-money. I w-w-wouldn't make a very g-g-good hostage."

That just earned her a quick, pleased smile. "It will take as long as it takes for them to raise the money. Big money, too. Millions, probably! I won't settle for anything less! And until they get it together, I'm keeping you. Keeping you _hostage_, I mean! I'm not letting you go until they pay me the millions of dollars it will take for me to release my hostage, is what I mean."

She seemed quite happy with the plan, her tone so sweet and happy that her 'hostage' felt a lot more like a person being swept off her feet, rescued by a princess of the desert, than a victim of the world's most beautiful kidnapper. "I think that m-m-my family's net w-w-worth is about t-t-ten dollars. It will t-t-take them quite a w-w-while to raise m-m-millions!"

"That's okay. I'm in no hurry. In the meantime you'll, well… uh, I mean, you'll have to stay with me. Until they raise the money, I mean."

When she looked over at her passenger, her expression was partly embarrassed, but mostly concerned that this would not be met with approval. Her stunned 'hostage' desperately tried to hide the fact that she privately thought this plan to be not just acceptable, but was in her opinion quite possibly the single greatest idea in the history of the universe. But she was also enough of a realist to know that life didn't work that way, and she didn't recall a fairy godmother appearing last evening promising to grant every wish she had ever had the following afternoon. "S-s-stay with y-y-you? W-w-where?"

"In Boston. Well, Cambridge, just north of Boston. I'm a student at MIT. I'm doing my doctoral research at the Minsky Labs there… well, it's actually in engineering, not a CS degree… but you probably don't really care about that part. I've got an apartment just off campus. Y-y-you can stay with me. For awhile. Until you find your own place I mean. Then you could move there. To your own place. If you want to. Until they pay the ransom, that is where you can stay." Realizing she was babbling, she forced herself to shut up. This was _not_ going the way she had imagined it. Of course, nothing about this situation was going the way she had imagined, her entire life had been knocked off-kilter a week ago, but even the bizarre part with Buffy hadn't prepared her for this. Hadn't prepared her for this reaction. Hadn't prepared her for meeting this girl.

She was lovely. There was no other word for it; _lovely_. Also cute and shy and pretty and nice. Okay, so there _were_ other words for it. But Willow couldn't have imagined her own reaction to seeing her, to meeting her. The way her breathing speeded up, not enough oxygen reaching her lungs. The tingly sensation on her skin. The way her ears perked up every time the shy girl talked. And she liked looking at her. Too much. She wasn't used to driving, and had to be careful to concentrate on watching the road. Not lost in dreamland when looking at the cute blonde. The color came from a bottle, but it suited her. She used it to shield her face; she was shy, and probably mortified by the cute stutter. She was bigger than Willow, but then again everyone except Buffy was bigger than her. Especially in the chestal-area, she couldn't help but notice. Face flushing in embarrassment, Willow returned her attention to her passenger when she realized the girl had processed her words and was talking, but from the blush on her face had probably noticed where her eyes had been staring.

"T-t-that's really nice of y-y-you, and I r-r-really appreciate it. But I c-c-can't just l-l-leave and g-g-go all the way to B-B-Boston!"

This time Willow was able to flash her a smug look. "You don't have a choice! Remember this is a _kidnapping_. The whole point of being 'kidnapped' is that you don't get to say 'no.' It says so right there in the dictionary. Look it up if you don't believe me."

Her passenger was looking at her like she was nuts, which Willow conceded was not an unwarranted assumption. But she didn't look afraid; didn't look like she was ready to open the door and jump from the moving vehicle, at least. "D-d-do you do things l-l-like this a l-l-lot? K-k-kidnap people, I m-m-mean."

"Nope. You're my first." Once again Willow blushed at the unintentional double-entendre she hoped the other girl didn't realize was implied by her words.

"W-w-why would you c-c-come a t-t-thousand miles from B-B-Boston to kidnap s-s-someone you've n-n-never met?"

Her confusion was understandable, and Willow sighed. She barely understood it herself. "That's kind of a long story."

"I-I-I'm being k-k-kidnapped. It's n-n-not like I d-d-don't have the t-t-time to listen." She smiled at the beautiful red haired girl driving the car, her hands tightly crushing the steering wheel due to nervousness, and tried not to get her hopes up too high. This wasn't possible. It was just a wonderful dream. She was really asleep in the woods behind her house, and would soon be awakening from the best fantasy she'd ever had. But in the meantime she was just going to let it ride, to pretend it was real, to imagine that something so wonderful could actually happen to a girl like her.

"Well, it started last week. A strange girl came up to me and told me she was from an alternate universe and needed my help to save the world."

Okay, that got her attention. Suddenly the girl in the passenger seat shifted slightly away from her, not quite panicking yet but obviously suddenly aware that she might be riding with a raving lunatic. Willow smiled happily at her, pleased that she had been able to make someone else respond the way she had to Buffy's appearance. "Oh, don't freak out yet! It gets better! She said that in this other universe she was a superhero, with super powers, and I was her trusty geek side-kick. You can probably imagine my reaction."

She gave her passenger a wry grin, which got her a tentative smile in return as the other girl got the implication that she realized how ridiculous it sounded. But then she frowned, returning her attention to the road. "The part where _I_ freaked out came shortly afterwards. When she proved that she really _did_ have superpowers. Seriously; _superpowers_! And then she proved that she knew _everything_ about me. Not the public stuff, the information any good detective could find out. The _secret_ stuff; my dreams, my deepest thoughts, my most private fantasies. The sort of things you would only tell your best friend. The sort of secrets I've never shared with _anyone_ in this world."

That last had been whispered, her tone wistful, and her passenger understood. She had also never had a friend close enough to risk sharing her deepest, darkest secrets with. She had also desperately wished she'd had someone in her life that close, that trustworthy. But a superhero from another universe? That was a bit of a stretch. She raised one eyebrow, and Willow got the implied message without a word being said.

"I don't like to brag, but I'm _good_ with computers. _Really_ good. Full scholarship to MIT, my thesis advisor is, well, world famous in the world of computers geeks. I'm getting to be fairly well known myself; Willow Rosenberg, girl genius! I get people coming up to me all the time asking me to do stuff, basically do their work for them. Usually crazy stuff; often illegal stuff. But nobody had ever asked me to do stuff that was crazier or more illegal than what Buffy asked me to do." Catching the look from the other girl, Willow giggled with her. "Yup, that was her name. Buffy. I kid you not. But as I said, she _knew_ me, and the things she was asking me to investigate were so bizarre as to be crazy.

"But when I started looking into her claims, I found out pretty quickly that she wasn't pulling my leg. There are secrets out there that you wouldn't believe, things going on in the shadows that people can't even imagine. But Buffy wasn't asking me for the _details_, the sort of information a spy would need. She was asking me to think things though, to get the data _I_ would need to reach a conclusion. She had this strategy, this overall plan for what she needed to accomplish; but she wanted _me_ to work out the details on how she might do it. I just found it so strange. To me she was almost a complete stranger, but she trusted my judgment more than anyone ever has. She had all these amazing physical abilities, but listened to my opinions. It was just… well, it was an amazing experience."

Her passenger met her eyes with an expression of understanding, the kind that said she was also someone who had also desperately wanted a friend and had never found one she could trust so much. A look that said she was envious, but not jealous. Willow smiled back and continued. "She told me about myself on her world. Not all of it was much fun to hear. She tried to be gentle, but thought I needed to know the bad along with the good. Apparently over the years I'd learned some pretty hard lessons, and learned them the hard way. I think Buffy was trying to give me a heads-up that it was usually my own fault when I screwed up. No surprise, I mean it usually is, but it was because of attitudes I didn't even realize I had that made me do stupid things that blew up in my face. She was sort of warning me about those attitudes ahead of time, because I don't really have those sort of attitudes here, I don't think so anyway. But I could. I can see them in myself, if things were different."

When she looked over at the other girl she saw the look on her face, and realized that her 'kidnap victim' was indignant that someone had dared lecture her on her attitude. Smiling, Willow reached over and gently patted her arm before continuing. "She wasn't being a bitch. Really. She was really embarrassed and tried to explain the reasons everything worked out the way it did. And it wasn't like she glossed over her own failures either! Let me tell you, there were more than enough screw-ups to go around! But basically she was tying to warn me that I sometimes have control issues, that I sometimes will do what _I_ think is best for other people even if that's not what _they_ want to do. Like, well, kidnapping people."

Willow shook her head in chagrin, taking the time to collect her thoughts and concentrate on driving, turning onto the main road, glad to have pavement under the VW's wheels again instead of the bumpy side road. "She also told me about my relationships with other people. This part was pretty important to me, because, well, until I met Buffy I haven't really had _any_ relationships with anyone. Not that _we_ had a relationship! I mean we were _friends_! We had a _friendly_ relationship. But in this world I haven't even had a relationship like that; all I have are acquaintances, people I work with, or know casually. But in her world I had actual friends. Even a boyfriend! And you'll never guess who it was! Have you heard of Oz Osborne?"

The other girl almost freaked out, horror obvious in her expression. "_You had a relationship with Ozzy Osborne_?" In the privacy of her own mind the girl was crushed at the thought that her kidnapper, Willow –such a beautiful name, and appropriate to the slim, graceful girl—had a boyfriend. _Any_ boyfriend. But the shock-rock god? The _old_ shock-rock god? The old, _married_ shock rock god? That was worse. That was _terrible_!

Willow looked horrified. "Not _him_! Are you _crazy_? No, the actor in the Austin Powers movies. The guy who played Mike Myers' son." At the look of relieved understanding in the other girls face Willow smiled smugly. "In Buffy's world he was a musician, not an actor. But we dated on her world; he even took my virginity the night of our senior prom!" She smiled proudly, and then gently sighed. "I didn't even go to the senior prom in this world. I never went to a school dance, never had a real date even. I like her world better. Even though it turned out Oz was a werewolf and we had to lock him up in a cage whenever there was a full moon."

The other girl's wonderfully expressive eyes went wide at that claim. Willow internally chuckled, recalling her own shock upon hearing about her boyfriends' affliction. After a short pause, she gave an audible sigh, and continued her story, no longer turning to look at her passenger, eyes locked on the road ahead. "Well, to make a long story a bit shorter, Oz and I were together for awhile, when something bad happened and he had to go away. And while he was gone, I found someone else. Someone special. Someone so special that when Oz came back, I chose to stay with my new friend instead of going back to him. I, uh, really pushed Buffy hard to tell me who that special person was. That someone who had made me so happy on such an unhappy world.

"You can probably imagine my surprise when she told me the name of that special someone was Tara McClay."

With that she finally turned, and met Tara's stunned expression. For a long time neither said a word, as the car continued to travel north.


	10. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

**Far Beyond Normal**

**Chapter Nine**

The house was small, bungalow style, the lawn neatly maintained, the yard surrounded by wildly growing flowers. A small, discrete sign indicated that the entire yard was maintained by a professional lawn care service. No toys or junk in the back yard, although a pretty sweet motorcycle could be seen in the otherwise-empty garage. It looked uninhabited. Not the sort of place the homeowner spent much time in. Buffy figured the inside would be obsessively neat, a cleaning service paid to keep it so, the owner only keeping the house for the kitchen and bedroom.

Walking up to the porch, she rang the bell and casually looked around waiting for someone to respond. It was a nice neighborhood, a good place to raise a family. It kind of reminded her of home, except for the mountains. She smiled a bit wistfully at how Sunnydale was still home to her. Perhaps it always would be.

Turning back when she heard someone approaching the door, she carefully went over the introductory speech she had spent some time rehearsing. The woman she would be talking to was smart; Willow-smart, maybe even smarter, if that was possible. That was a problem, because smart people tried to figure out tangential things, like how she could possibly know what she was claiming to know, instead of concentrating on the important things, such as what she actually knew. Still, they had gone over the options and decided that approaching this woman would be better than trying to go through any of her colleagues. All of them had other issues which made each of them even less likely to be receptive to her claims.

When she finally opened the door, Buffy decided she was older than the picture had suggested. Mid-thirties. Still pretty; looked to be in good shape. Only the faintest traces of grey barely showing in sleep-puffed blonde hair. Not really tall, but at five-nine she pretty much towered over Buffy, even wearing slippers. Physically fit, although her blood-shot eyes suggested too many late nights and not enough sleep. No smell of alcohol, although Buffy hadn't expected it. This was not the sort of woman who spent a lot of time bar-hopping. "Hi! I'm Buffy. I wanted…"

It was the eyes that warned her. Most people wouldn't have seen any change, would have been caught by surprise by the sudden attack. But then, most people hadn't been in ten thousand fights, nor did they have Slayer reflexes. Even as the fist came driving forward Buffy almost casually shifted just barely out of the path of the incoming blow and brought her own hand thrusting forward as the other woman, off balance after bracing for an impact which never came, was forced forward through sheer momentum. It wasn't an instinctive reaction. Despite the unexpectedness of it, to a Slayer the attack was almost in slow motion, so Buffy had plenty of time to calibrate her counter attack to a level that wouldn't leave the woman a broken corpse.

It was however calibrated to be instantly disabling. With a grunt of air as her diaphragm went into spasm, she went crashing backwards, the force from Buffy's deceptively casual blow enough to put her down hard. Eyes glaring in annoyance, Buffy followed her into the house, lightly closing the door behind her, giving the house a quick once-over to see if there were any other unwelcome surprises. She was not surprised to see that her expectations as to the neatness of the décor was bang-on. Although to be fair, she was a bit impressed that the furnishings were more casual than would have been the case if the woman had paid an interior designer to handle everything. So; she cared enough about her home to ensure that she surrounded herself with a livable environment.

She was tough too. Even with the wind knocked out of her, not to mention the suddenness of the violence and the pain of being knocked on her ass, she was already trying to get to her feet, eyes frantic but her fear under control as she looked around for a weapon. The house was way too neat for anything even remotely usable to be lying around, so Buffy stood back out of the range of any martial arts kicks the woman might consider trying and glared at her. "_What the hell is wrong with you people_? I _knocked_ on the figgin' door, for crissakes! Every goddamn time I come near one of you morons, you _attack_ me! If I wanted to fight you, would I have _knocked_! _No_! I would have jumped you from behind, or hit you with a baseball bat when you weren't looking, or did something equally 'attack-ish.' Jeezus, you people are violent. Someone just wants to talk, you attack them without warning, and then get all pissy when they defend themselves. Jerks."

The older woman looked confused by the unexpected irritation in the girls tone, but her lungs were starting to work again and she was trying to get back to her feet. She had a black belt, and it annoyed her that the tiny cheerleader-type blathering at her didn't look even slightly worried about that fact. She was uncomfortably aware that she hadn't even seen the counter-attack coming, and quaking inside that the girls' arrogant confidence that she represented no threat was justified. But that didn't mean she didn't intend to try. Unfortunately she was far from 100 after being awakened from less than three hours sleep and shaken by being hit harder than a person so small should have been able to deliver.

From the casual, annoyed, and effortless way her follow-up attack was brushed aside, she also knew that even at 100 she would have been handed her ass. As it was, the little girl took care to ensure that she knocked her into her couch, all the way across the room, which probably saved her from the multiple broken bones she would have received had the girl aimed her at the brick fireplace.

Not even breathing hard, the tiny blonde aimed a stern finger at her and growled "Stay!" in an annoyed tone as she moved to the kitchen area. Her victim, bruised and sore but mostly shocked at how effortlessly she had been beaten, first tried to draw breath into lungs that were screaming for air, before suddenly leaping towards the phone. Only to leap away from it a second later when a kitchen knife, thrown with inhuman power and accuracy, smashed right through the phone, severing the cord at the back of the base. When she looked up, eyes wide in stunned disbelief, the girl wasn't even looking at her. Instead she had her head in her fridge, taking out a bottle of orange juice with rock-steady hands, like she was visiting for tea instead of coming down from the normal adrenaline high that followed any violent confrontation.

Her expression conveyed little except annoyance. She was just too small, too California-pretty to pull it off however, and it looked pouty. Fortunately the older woman was far too smart to tell her that, correctly suspecting it would be a suicidal blunder. Grabbing two coffee mugs from the counter, the girl brought the juice container into the living area, seated herself on one of the two comfortable chairs with a glass table between her and the woman groaning quietly on the couch. "You can have something to drink, but if you try to use the cup as a weapon and ruin my nice new shirt with orange juice stains I'm going to be pissed."

By that point the older woman was just plain confused. At first she had been afraid for her life. A fight for survival didn't leave a lot of time for thinking. Having gone down to defeat however, and having the victor bring you orange juice, well, that really threw you for a loop. Nothing was adding up. This was not what she would have expected, given the description on the message sent out to all SGC employees. The warning to be on the lookout for the girl, a known mass murderer who had been in an asylum for the criminally insane since she was a teenager, had indicated she was psychopathic, psychotic, and would almost certainly kill anyone she came into contact with. A sulking cheerleader bringing OJ to her victim, whom she had subdued using the minimum force possible under the circumstances, did not fit the profile the warnings had described.

Especially since she probably had good reason, from her perspective, to feel put-upon. Technically speaking, she _had_ been attacked without warning. Carter took the offered juice, drained the glass, and was very careful to put it down slowly, without offering the slightest suggestion of a threat.

Her effort to not escalate the situation was noted approvingly. But the girl was still pretty ticked. "I can't believe you just tried to _attack_ me! No warning, not the slightest effort to find out what I wanted, how I knew where you lived, _nada_. Just whack away, shoot on sight! Do you always act that way when you meet random strangers? Given what you do for a living I'd have thought you'd want to figure out what the hell was going on before 'nuking the site from orbit' right off the bat."

Eyes wide at the implication of that statement, Sam Carter's mind went into overdrive at the knowledge the cheerleader either had or was trying to suggest she had about the activities of the SGC. "I know who you are."

That earned a lady-like snort of disbelief. "I seriously doubt it."

"You're Elizabeth Summers. State Security put out a warning to be on the lookout for you. You're one of the most wanted criminals in the country! In fact, the police are probably…"

Her words were interrupted by an imperiously raised arm, recent painful experience telling Carter to shut up before that arm did anything more violent. "And you believed it! Enough to attack me on sight. You, who have had such _wonderful_ experience with the truth and accuracy of reports from the NID. Dammit, lady, you have no idea how disappointing this is for me. I was told you were the _smart_ one."

That cut a bit too close to home. Carter did not like it when anyone cast aspersions on her intelligence; but she did know the NID, and was uncomfortably aware that nothing from them could be trusted. "I've seen pictures of the people you killed, Miss Summers. Now maybe there is another side to what happened, but that is for a court to decide. When facing someone like you it would be foolish to do anything but attempt to subdue them and let the judicial process do its job."

It wasn't often anyone looked at Carter like they thought she was an idiot, and having it come from a vapid cheerleader made it even less palatable than usual. The fact that the vapid cheerleader had a point didn't make it any more enjoyable. "Oh, yeah, let's hear it for the 'judicial process.' I had a real fun 'up-close-and-personal' look at your wonderful judicial process, lady, and let me tell you: it _sucks_. The thought that you'd hand me over to the NID without even bothering to listen to what I have to say, when I never threatened you in any way, makes it pretty obvious you are not the person I was hoping you would be, and that this whole thing is just a colossal waste of my time."

With a theatrical sigh she sat back a bit, but Carter wasn't deceived into thinking she was relaxed. "But I guess I've made an implied promise to the PtB morons that I would at least _try_, so what you are going to do is sit back and shut up while I tell you my story. Then I am going to leave and you can do whatever the hell you want with it. Afterwards we need never see each other again, for what little time will then remain for everyone on Earth. Because I am _not_ going to waste my time doing a Chicken Little impersonation when nobody is willing to believe me that the sky really _is_ about to fall. It's just not worth the dubious pleasure of being able to say 'I told you so' when it _does_ happen and despite me telling you exactly what was going to happen and you didn't do a _frickin_' _thing_ to prevent it _from_ happening!"

With that she frowned and launched into a rambling story about alternate universes, Slayer dreams, and –of much more interest to Carter, who suddenly started paying closer attention—aliens with glowing eyes, launching an attack on Earth from pyramid-shaped starships. An attack that she felt was imminent, only weeks away from occurring. "In my vision the trees are just starting to turn, and autumn isn't that far away. And _you're_ in the vision, freaking out because you're the one who caused it, _you_ screwed something up that let them get through Earth's defenses." When she saw that her reluctant audience was looking a bit indignant at the suggestion she might be the reason for the destruction of the entire planet, Buffy frowned in thought, going over that part of the dream in her mind. "Something about 'Xerox.' You just brought in Xerox, or turned on Xerox or something, and it locked everyone out of the system. You're freaking out, telling the fat general that you can't get it to return fire control to the NORAD mainframes.

"You can't even use the StarGate to get to the Alpha Site. Everything is locked out, and the dudes with the glowing eyes know it because one of the pyramid ships lands right on top of Cheyenne Mountain right out in the open in front of God and everyone, just daring you to take a shot at them. Then, a whole army of what looks like humans in Egyptian costume get off the ship and use their rayguns to take over the base. By then other ships are nuking about half the cities on the planet.

"I dunno what the hell you did to the photocopier to make it lose us the entire planet, and from what I can see neither do you. Right to the very end you seem more confused than scared. Doesn't save you tho; you can't fix it even though you're going through some kind of 'nerd-gasm' banging away on the computers there in the observation room above the StarGate, right up until some big guy blasts your intestines across the wall with about a six foot tall ray gun. The End."

Somewhat to Buffy's surprise, this last part has captured the older woman's attention. She had given her the quick version, skipping over a million details she had discussed with Willow, because she hadn't really expected the Air Force officer to pay any attention, or give the slightest credence to her story. Which turned out to be a good thing as she suddenly heard sirens off in the distance and couldn't take the chance that one of the nice neighbors in this nice neighborhood had seen her knock Carter through her door and called the police. She was _not_ going to return to the custody of the NID, even if it cost her what might be her only shot at convincing someone with authority to take her warning seriously. So she abruptly stood. "That's it. Do what you want with the info. Forward it, file it, flush it; I don't care. I did my part. Good luck, hang tough, have a nice life; I am out of here."

"_No_! _Wait_! What do you mean, _Xerox_? You have got to explain…"

But it was too late. Buffy rushed to the back door, exited over the deck, and was gone before Carter could make any effort to stop her. She ran for the phone in the other room, only then hearing the sirens which had chased the girl away. It turned out that the police were responding to a completely unrelated issue down the block. But by then it was too late: Buffy was gone.

* * *

When it got out that the Air Force had known that a wanted terrorist was in town but hadn't notified anyone, things were really going to hit the fan. All of them knew it; none of them were particularly worried. They had their own concerns, their own mission… and their own friends, politicians who supported them and their efforts in Congress. They were SG-1, pretty much the first line of defense against alien invasion, and if push came to shove, they would be given a fair hearing and not simply buried somewhere quietly. A warning that there might be a fatal flaw in Xerxes, no matter what its source, could not be ignored. Not when the safety of the world depended on Xerxes working perfectly.

The thing was; it _did_ work perfectly. A hundred tests, a thousand simulations, had all demonstrated that the system _worked_. And even if it didn't, there were a dozen ways to turn it off, fail-safes designed to ensure there would _always_ be a way to pull the plug on it should anything go wrong. Against that all they had was the dubious dreams of a wanted lunatic murderer. For all they knew, she really did mean that the problem was with the photocopier, a fact O'Neill brought up repeatedly. But Carter wasn't convinced there was nothing to the girls' story.

"You weren't there, sir. You didn't see her. She wasn't trying to sell me on this; she really had all but given up on convincing anyone to take her seriously. I know what she was saying doesn't make sense, but _nothing_ about her makes sense! She knows about the StarGate but hasn't gone public with it. She's supposed to be a psychopath, but she didn't try to hurt me. She just defended herself after _I_ attacked _her_! And how was she able to do that? She's been in a psychiatric hospital since she was 15 years old! Yet she took me down with a move I've never seen, that I didn't know was even _possible_! I'm no Bruce Lee but I'm pretty good at martial arts, and am certainly good enough to recognize an expert. This girl was beyond good. It would take a lifetime of training to get that good. When did she have the _time_ to become so good?

"And we know she killed those people _escaping_ from prison. What was she doing there in the first place! That prison is supposed to be for _foreign_ terrorists; fundamentalist extremists irredeemably committed to the destruction of our country and way of life. Why was a 20 year old American citizen, who until six months earlier been in a hospital where she was so lost in a catatonic state that she wasn't a danger to anyone, taken to _that_ prison for interrogation? What were they interrogating her _for_? She hadn't been out long enough to know anything… and we know that she spent most of her time following her release from hospital studying for her GED! That's hardly the behavior of a terrorist."

Carter shook her head, her frustration obvious. "It was _stupid_ of me to attack her on sight like that. I just read the report about her and took it at face value, without taking even a minute to consider the gaping inconsistencies. No; she knows something. The NID knows what it is, and is lying to us about it. About her. We have to find out what it is before Xerxes can be brought online."

Her superior office frowned. "Not gonna happen. Nobody has found anything wrong with it, not even you, Carter. After spending thirteen billion dollars on it and selling all the fancy improvements to the people who pay the bills, we can't hold off on using it just because a loony killer had some psychic 'vision' that it doesn't work out as promised. Can you picture Hammond trying to explain to all the politicians and company execs and pentagon brass coming down for the ceremony why we should hold off? I can't."

It was a valid argument. Until and unless they had concrete reason not to engage the Xerxes system, everything would proceed as scheduled. Even Carter acknowledged they couldn't delay the implementation of such a complex system just because she had a 'bad feeling.' But her colleagues had learned to respect her 'bad feelings' and investigate them until they figured out what was bothering her.

Hence, not telling anyone about the girl.

If they told the Feds, they would haul her away, and there wasn't much chance that Carter would be allowed to question her further. So they didn't inform State Security, and had been spending the past few days searching for her. Of course, if they couldn't find her, and she went nuts and slaughtered 35 children with a chain saw, the Feds were going to be just a tad upset with them. So it was just as well that they had finally located her. She was shopping.

There was some debate among the four of them on how to proceed. Jackson suggested simply walking up to her, introducing himself, and ask her all of Carter's questions. O'Neill wanted to wait until they had her in a location where they were in control, not in a downtown shopping district where civilians could be hurt if things got out of hand. They didn't see any obvious weapons, but she was carrying a shopping bag, and even if she wasn't packing, Carter had been pretty emphatic about her hand-to-hand combat skills. Not that O'Neill was overly worried about that; the girl was all of five feet tall, and couldn't have weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet. He made a big production out of asking Teal'c to protect him should the girl become violent, sarcasm positively dripping from his voice.

To their frustration however, it turned out that the girl took her shopping seriously. Carter could have built a nuclear reactor out of stone knives and bear skins in the time it took their quarry to select her shoes. Wanted posters everywhere, every cop in the country looking for her, the star of her own episode of 'America's Most Wanted,' yet she blithely spent the entire day calmly shopping for shoes. _Ugly_ shoes, in O'Neill's opinion. It was a good thing Colorado Springs didn't have any more shoe stores in the downtown area, as none of the four increasingly impatient observers doubted that she would have tried on every shoe in them as well if there were. But finally, after quite literally hours of fitting, discussion and debate with most of the shoe salespeople in town, she found a pair that were 'just right' and purchased them, leaving the shop with a happy smile.

She was walking, which made tailing her easy than it would have been using cars. O'Neill and his team were experts in surveillance techniques. With four people available to trade off lead duties, they would have been able to conceal their interest from even someone far more sensitive to being tailed than the girl. She never once looked back, didn't use a window as a mirror, didn't appear to even consider the possibility that someone _might_ be following her. Or, perhaps, given her physical attractiveness, she was so accustomed to being stared at by strange men that there would be no way for her to tell the difference between a stalker and casual admirers. Either way if made following her a breeze. O'Neill's team was too professional to allow themselves to slack even under those circumstances, however, and never made any sudden movements, used what crowd was available for cover, never make the slightest indication that they were following the small blonde girl.

Their cautious approach was rewarded as she finally left the city center, casually, even jauntily walking along the city streets for a dozen blocks, until finally she arrived at a warehouse area. The warehouse buildings were modern and cookie-cutter identical, a half dozen of them in a fenced off enclosure. The gate was unlocked, and she entered without looking back, heading for the second building on the right. They waited until she entered, then O'Neill gestured for Carter to go along the left exterior side of the two-storey reinforced-masonry structure, Jackson the other side, while he and Teal'c would follow her inside. After a quick radio check they set out, the two military men cautiously opening the steel door of the building and entering silently.

It was a warehouse. Filled with boxes. Lots of boxes, stacked in open metal frames in three long rows, offering lots of places to hide. O'Neill drew his zat gun, gestured for Teal'c to take the lane on his side, and they moved out, searching for the girl. There was no sign of her, no noise, no indication of her having passed by. He had a bad feeling, but calmly tapped his communicator to let the others know he was inside and moving.

No more than two minutes passed before he felt it; the impact of a dart, his muscles suddenly going into spasm, his body locked instantly into complete rigidity, losing all motor control. He never saw her, never heard a thing. But, too late for it to matter, he realized that the dart had come in from behind him. From above him.

A few seconds later he heard her drop down beside him. She was in the process of withdrawing something from the shopping bag when Teal'c called in a radio check. When there was no response, not from the paralyzed O'Neill or anyone else, he stood up, crossed over to the other lane between shelving units, and began running towards them when he saw his friend at the far end of the warehouse, the girl standing over him. She didn't look up, didn't rush her work, simply sat him up against a convenient post, attaching some kind of metal collar around his neck. She casually lifted his zat gun when Teal'c approached, holding it right to O'Niell's head. "That's far enough."

He stopped abruptly in response to the threat, still twenty feet from them, and made no attempt to lift his zat. She gestured towards the weapon, and ordered him to toss it aside. When he did she removed the gun from O'Neill's head and again reached into her shopping bag, holding up what looked like a garage door opener. "Your friends are okay. I used the same drug that wildlife control officers use to dart animals. I know it's safe; I've used it before on… wolves. The dosage was low; they should recover before too long. However, you will notice the collar around this man's neck. I made it myself. There is a small pellet of plastic explosive held right up against the base of his spine. Not much, but enough to do the job. There is a remote detonator attached to it. All I have to do is press this little button, and the good Colonel's spinal cord goes 'boom.'"

She held up the modified garage door opener for Teal'c to see, and he stood silently, expression calm, but his fists clenched and his hard eyes met those of O'Neill, before returning his attention to the girl. Buffy stood, and to everyone's surprise tossed the remote unit along the floor behind Teal'c. His eyes narrowed in confusion, but he didn't turn to look at it, keeping his outwardly emotionless gaze on the tiny girl. She just smiled at him. "I am now going to go pick up that remote and press the button."

The huge black warrior moved about a foot, standing between her and the unit now somewhere behind him. "I will not allow you to do so, Miss Summers."

"And just how do you intend to stop me?"

"By using force, if necessary."

"It will be. In fact, that's the whole point of the exercise. Okay big guy; let's see what you got." With that she walked right up to him, making no effort to defend herself, and Teal'c suddenly lashed out with one of his massive fists, catching the obviously suicidal girl square in the face. To everyone's amazement she barely budged from the blow, and smiled again as she raised her comparatively tiny fist and hit him back. Teal'c didn't go down, but judging by the surprised grunt he was unable to hold back, that punch _hurt_. For a second the two just looked at each other, the huge bald man nearly three times as massive as the tiny blonde girl, both of them taking the measure of the other, and then both were suddenly in motion.

Blows fell quicker than the eye could see; punches, kicks, martial arts moves from a dozen fighting styles. O'Neill, only able to move his eyes and watching in stunned amazement, could not believe what he was seeing. He knew how strong the Jaffa warrior was, knew how hard it was to damage him thanks to a larval Goa'uld symbiote that could heal almost any damage as soon as it happened. But the man was, unquestionably –_unbelievably_!- getting his ass kicked. The girl was incredibly fast, almost impossible to hit. Even so, just one blow from those massive fists should have been enough to take her head off. But the few times Teal'c was able to get through her guard she simply shrugged it off and hit him back twice as hard.

It was obvious what she was doing. She was testing him. Testing his skill, his strength, his ability to physically recover from her punches, to mentally adjust his tactics in response to her attack. It was cold, calculating, and should have been suicidal… but she was too fast, too strong, too _good_, and was learning a lot faster than her opponent. Within two minutes she had worked though the Jaffa defensive techniques O'Neill and several martial arts experts had never figured out a way to penetrate. She studied how he adapted to that, how he coped with her constantly varying attack, how he responded to her efforts to let him go and move towards the detonator. It was cold, calculating, _insane_; and it was being done by a girl so small she shouldn't have had the slightest chance of ever surviving the experience.

But she was not just surviving; she was _winning_. It was obvious to all three of them that the longer the fight went on, the greater her dominance was revealed. She wasn't there to prove her physical superiority, however; she was testing the limits of the Jaffa warrior, but her cold, intense gaze didn't show whatever judgment she reached on the results of the test. One thing was finally obvious however: Teal'c was prepared to fight to the death rather than allow her to pass him and get to the detonator.

Once it was clear he was reaching the limits on his strength and stamina Teal'c suddenly unleashed a desperate, all-or-nothing barrage of strikes and twists which finally got him through her defensive technique. He was finally able to get a massive hand on one of her arms. Teal'c was so strong he almost never had to resort to grappling tactics, but given the mass difference it was his last, best option against his smaller, faster opponent. Unfortunately she was also _stronger_ than him, and despite having arms that were the size of twigs compared to the gigantic meat hooks on her massive opponent, the girl simply used her other hand to twist his arm aside. Knowing that this was his only chance of saving his friends life, Teal'c resisted with every fiber of his being. The snapping noise of his wrist breaking could be heard even over the grunt of pain he was unable to hold back.

Teal'c went down, exhausted, covered in sweat, wracked from the agonized pain from not only the broken wrist but bone-deep bruises covering almost every major organ. He didn't cry out, didn't beg; but simply met her eyes until the girl turned away and walked by him towards the remote control unit. After she picked it up she turned back, seeing Teal'c desperately try to crawl after her, and O'Neill, his eyes frantic, trying to move a muscle, _any_ muscle, but still paralyzed by the drug.

She shook her head and smiled at them both, before casually tossing the unit over to Teal'c. He paused in stunned surprise, mouth bleeding either from a blow or having bitten his lip in his determination to reach her, even if it meant crawling. With that she sighed, and walked by him, over to the shopping bag she had dropped off beside O'Neill. Although not nearly as exhausted as Teal'c, O'Neill could see that she had been tested hard by his friend. Her once perfectly coifed hair was drenched in sweat, her shirt sticking to her skin from perspiration. Turning her back to the men she took off the shirt –she was wearing a sports bra, so it was hardly an exercise in eroticism—and reached down to pull a bottle of water from her bag. She drank a mouthful, swished, spit it out, and poured the rest of it over her head.

After tossing the empty bottle aside, she reached down again and pulled another bottle of water and a small towel from the bag, drinking a third of it before putting the cap back on and casually tossing the remainder over to a watching Teal'c, who caught it with his good hand. She didn't pause to see if he drank, but made a cursory attempt to dry herself before reaching into the bag a third time for a replacement shirt. Once dressed she did one of those loopy things girls did with their hair, secured it with a scrunchie, and picked up the bag before walking over to where Teal'c lay watching her.

She gave a small, half smile when she saw that he had drained the water bottle, and reached into the bag for another, placing it on the ground beside him, not overly concerned that doing so put her arm within his reach should he want to resume the fight. He wasn't that crazy, and with the detonator in his possession he saw no need to try anything so foolish. She met his eyes for a few seconds before sighing, and looking away. "Where I come from there are maybe fifty thousand vampires, and one Slayer. It's been that way for thousands of years, and in all that time one Slayer has been enough to keep the vampires under control, because they aren't that strong, not that tenacious, not that smart… and mostly not that _loyal_. You can play them off, one against another. Take out the most powerful and the rest will be too busy fighting for the scraps to bother any innocent bystanders.

"But that won't work against your people, will it?"

Returning her gaze back to meet Teal'c's eyes, she could see him reach a sudden understanding. "No. The Goa'uld overlords can be made to fight amongst themselves, but Jaffa are professional warriors. One fighter, no matter how skilled, will not distract them from their duty."

She scowled in frustration, accepting his judgment. "Are many of them as good as you?"

Teal'c bowed his head just a bit with becoming modesty. "Before I was freed, I was First Prime to the false God Apophis. I commanded his legions in battle."

Buffy was appropriately impressed, even though she didn't know who the hell 'Apophis' was. "Well, at least that's something. It's already bad enough; having to face ten thousand more like _you_ would have really sucked something major." Her pretty face scrunched up as she concentrated on problems only she could see, before returning her attention to the warrior at her feet, who calmly sipped the water she had provided. "If you were that high in the Goold food chain, they are bound to be pretty pissed at you for turning against them. I guess you already know that I think they're coming here. Carter didn't believe me, but I'm telling you, warrior to warrior, that my prophetic dreams _always_ come true. They're on their way. You probably don't want to be here when they arrive."

"It is pronounced 'Goa'uld,' and I _do_ believe you, Miss Summers. But that belief is irrelevant. I have sworn my fealty to the Tau'ri. If it is our destiny to die in battle against the agents of the Goa'uld, I can think of no greater honor."

The girl groaned in irritation. "Somehow I knew you were gonna say that! My problem is that I don't see much 'honor' in dying in battle. Against the Goold or anyone else. My job is to _protect_ people, to keep them safe. I can't do a very good job of that if I'm dead. One of the reasons I never fit in with the military, and their 'death before dishonor' crap. You'd think the SGC would realize it was more important to defend this planet instead of dying heroically, but hey, them's the breaks." As she spoke she glared at O'Neill, noticing the small twitches of involuntary muscle spasms which indicated the drug was beginning to wear off, before returning her attention to the Jaffa. After studying him for a few seconds, she brought up something from left field. "Did you know that your snake is about ready to hatch?"

Teal'c flinched, his good hand involuntarily moving to cover the pouch in his chest. "The gestation period for the larva can be up to eight years. I have been a host for only seven."

She shrugged. "This one is about ready to calve. Not sure how much time you have left, but something to think about. Anyway, I gotta go. Interesting meeting you Teal'c. You've given me a lot to think about."

When she turned to leave Teal'c spoke up, probably trying to delay her until the others recovered, but Buffy stopped to listen anyway. "Would you have pressed the button and murdered Colonel O'Neill had I failed your test, Miss Summers?"

She smiled at him, then turned hard eyes towards O'Neill. "Of course I'd have pressed the button!" After pausing a bit to savor his reaction, she continued. "Unfortunately, the only thing it might do is open a garage door somewhere." When she saw the fury in O'Neill's eyes her smile widened, her amusement obvious. "Besides, the collar only holds a pellet of plasticine wrapped in colored cellophane. It's not like it would do any real damage."

There were a lot of enemies who could have told her not to bait O'Neill, had they not paid for the error with their lives. Buffy got the message from his eyes, but wasn't overly concerned. "Yes Colonel, I'm messing with you. Deal with it. I'd even be worried about you retaliating were it not for the fact that your stupidity, your self-righteous, condescending, smug incompetence, is about to get most of the people on this planet killed. So when it comes to fucking up, you've got me beat by a mile. Don't worry about it; you'll get your revenge. You're about to get me killed… along with everyone you have ever known. Congratulations. I hope you're proud."

With that she turned and walked away, closing the door behind her.


	11. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

**Far Beyond Normal**

**Chapter Ten**

Buffy had no idea why she hadn't left town. She pondered the question as she walked through the rubble. 'Pondering' wasn't her strong suit. One of the reasons why she had a team to support her work as the Slayer was so they could do the 'pondering' while she handled the violence. She was real good at the violence part. She even had a ready-made excuse; it was a survival mechanism. A Slayer diverted by introspection was a Slayer distracted and an easy lunch for the first passing vamp. In Buffy's case her support group included people of both genius and extensive experience. She was able to trust them to go through all the information and reach an accurate conclusion without her having to go through all the raw data herself. They didn't quite give her marching orders; but 99 of the time she did whatever they recommended.

Without being able to discuss the situation with Willow or Giles, Buffy was forced to rely on her own instincts, and her gut feeling was that she should remain in Colorado Springs. It was dangerous, since they knew she was there; but whatever was going to happen would happen there first, so that was where she had to be if she stood any chance at all of stopping it. Even a month ago that would have been a problem as Buffy was accustomed to sleeping in a bed and eating in a kitchen; basically living the normal middle-class American life with all its conveniences. With the cops, the Feds, and now probably the United States Air Force all searching for her it was no longer possible for her to hide in plain sight, to stay at a hotel, or even to break into an unoccupied house to spend the night. So she needed a hideout.

If there was one thing she had learned from her experience at the murderous hands of the NID, it was the need to adjust her threshold for discomfort on her personal 'want/need' scale. Given the threat of recapture, some modest inconvenience was no longer quite so unpalatable. So she gave up on the idea of spending her nights sleeping on a comfortable bed and searched for alternative arrangements. Even a city as prosperous as the 'Springs had areas where time had passed it by, where decaying, abandoned structures awaited the wrecking ball. There was also considerable wilderness just beyond the city limits, inhospitable terrain where she could easily have camped out, far from prying eyes. But, for various reasons, she didn't want to be too far from town, just in case 'something' happened, so after a careful survey of the options she settled on hiding out in a district containing semi- and completely-abandoned industrial buildings to the south of the city, near the huge Fort Carson Military base.

It was far from a perfect place to hide out, given the activity around it where trucks constantly moved to and from huge distribution centers, but she wanted to be close to Cheyenne Mountain, and found a collection of three old warehouse buildings in a fenced-off enclosure. The government wanted to expropriate the land as part of the base and the owners had been fighting it in court for years, but until the situation was resolved no one was using the place except for those people who, like Buffy, had their own reasons for living in such squalid conditions. There weren't many of them, just a few drug addicts or homeless people who needed shelter from the rain, or a place to sleep off the effects of whatever poison they were currently stuffing into their bodies.

There were also a few who presented a more serious problem; criminals or psychopaths who preyed on the weak or defenseless. If she tried to hide out in such an area, no matter how much effort she put into remaining unseen, it was virtually certain that eventually somebody would wonder what a pretty, young, white girl was doing there, and the local human predators would find answering that question an irresistible challenge. And unlike the druggies or the drunks, the predators would have no compunction about informing the authorities should she not accede to any demands they might make.

Buffy had even less interest in doing what criminals told her to do than she did in following the orders of the government. Fortunately for her, she also knew how to address the situation. Human predators could be dealt with a lot like she had dealt with non-human predators; attack them from behind, leave evidence that their most obvious competitor was responsible, repeat as needed. The resulting gang war was brief, brutal, and removed almost all of the local power structure from the playing field. It also had the added benefit of padding her dwindling supply of emergency funds. Interestingly, despite the shots fired in anger and sudden upswing in the number of people admitted to hospital due to 'gang related activities,' the police did nothing except increase their patrols to the surrounding neighborhoods, apparently content to let the gangs engage in their own Darwinian struggle.

A few days after the brief exercise in real-time evolution in action, a new crew showed up to establish dominion over the few social rejects who hadn't left when the shooting started. Buffy waited until it was dark, attacked them from behind, broke enough assorted bones for them to get the message, and then left them to draw their own conclusions. With limited prey, no drug or prostitution money to be made from the feeble residents, and something both invisible and powerful hiding somewhere in the dark, the local criminal element abandoned the area for greener pastures. Even so, Buffy went to considerable effort to conceal herself from the few people who remained, suspecting that their gratitude for her efforts would not stop them from selling her out to any of the various groups looking for her for the price of a bottle of cheap booze.

The place she selected for her hideout did not measure up to the standards of the Batcave or the Fortress of Solitude –Buffy gave a mental sigh, and wondered if she would live long enough to look up Xander's counterpart on this world—but it suited her needs. Fires had gutted two of the three abandoned warehouses in the fenced-in enclosure, but those two were none the less used by most of the residents. There was pretty much nothing left to burn in them, except what materials they brought in for their own purposes, and they were more accessible than the third building. That building had a small office area attached to the warehouse part, retrofitted into one end of the building probably in the 1950's. The added working area extended all the way up, four floors from the dock to the roof. Wooden stairs between each level had been either burned away or removed, and the opening in each floor sealed with heavy steel plates, in an attempt to keep vagrants and kids from getting in, getting hurt, and suing the owners.

The outside was a solid concrete wall, but boarded-up windows looked out from the office section to the rest of the cavernous warehouse, which was in far worse shape than the other two buildings. An entire section of the roof had fallen away, scorch marks covered the walls, and the floor was covered in rubble and garbage. Some of the cantilevered beams which had once held up the roof had fallen, and those that remained didn't look very safe. Their rusted anchor positions could be easily seen during daylight, the concrete crumbling away from the bolts. This was the place Buffy decided to make her temporary home.

The very things which made the office part so inaccessible made it perfect for her purposes. Only an experienced mountain climber –or a Slayer—could reach the upper floors. After a careful survey she was fairly certain nobody but her had been there in decades. The numerous holes in the walls of the open warehouse part of the building allowed her to enter through any of a dozen separate places, meaning she was unlikely to be trapped if she varied which one she used each time she returned. And once inside the warehouse, it would have been impossible for another human to follow the routes she took climbing the walls, moving along the rickety trusses, jumping over what anyone else would consider impassible breaches, to reach the office level. After two weeks she had set up a fairly comfortable encampment. She had food and supplies, a bed roll and sleeping bag, her ipod, and a stack of magazines. All the comforts of home.

Her friends would have been stunned at not just her new 'home' but the clothes she wore. Street clothes; a dark hoody, loose and warm. Running shoes. Baggy jeans. She hated them all. Part of her image, her style, had been to project a certain sense of sartorial elegance. It had been a direct, in-your-face challenge to the vampires, wearing high-heeled boots and clingy pants, her way of showing her contempt for them, a direct challenge and enticement, a silent statement that she would put herself at such a disadvantage just to look good, but would win anyway. Unfortunately it attracted too much attention when dealing with humans, and she was trying to remain hidden; so fashion-plate Buffy was temporarily on hiatus. So to compensate she practiced her other skills; around her bed roll was a cache of knives, sticks, and a very expensive crossbow, which she had purchased from a hunting supply store where she had astonished the grizzled salesman with her knowledge of and expertise with the weapon.

She had already mapped out and tested three separate escape routes. If the police arrived she would grab a small emergency pack beside her bed, containing money, food, water, and a change of clothing, and use one of those escape routes. If the NID found her she intended to grab the crossbow and her supply of arrows, and go hunting.

* * *

O'Neill was in a foul mood, and everyone knew it. He had been in a foul mood for the previous two weeks, ever since his friend had been beaten half to death, not to mention he and the rest of his team knocked out by hand-made darts she had _thrown_ at them from a roof. Now that they had finally tracked the irritating little girl to her lair he should have been finally satisfied, happy they would finally be able to show her who was incompetent and who wasn't. Her contempt for the SGC had been obvious to them all. She had taken it as axiomatic that since they were incompetent, they would inevitably fail in their sacred duty to protect the Earth from the Goa'uld. A kid, a short, vacuous, loony-bird who had never held a job or done anything useful in her entire life, had casually dismissed the finest, most professional military organization in the history of the world as incompetent, their failure inevitable. It was insulting, and O'Neill had never been one to accept insults gracefully.

That hadn't been the excuse he had used to sell this operation to Hammond. No, to get the manpower he needed he'd had to bring up the usual red herrings; that she had demonstrated more-than-human abilities, that she knew too much about the StarGate, that she was claiming there was a fatal weakness in Xerxes. But they were just excuses, and Hammond and everyone else knew it. They all knew O'Neill did not take insults lying down. But that didn't mean his excuses weren't true. So Hammond had stood aside and let him devote far more resources than they could spare to finding the extraordinary little girl. When they finally located her, using satellite-based infrared sensors and several million dollars worth of motion detectors, it should have been one of the more satisfying moments of his career. But it wasn't. Not any more.

Nobody knew who sent the dvd, or how they managed to get their hands on it. Even Carter had never been able to break into the NID mainframes and retrieve information on their activities. But there was no question that someone had, because there was no way in hell that NID would have permitted the electronic file on their interrogation of Elizabeth Summers to ever see the light of day. Because what the disk showed was so horrific, so disgusting, so offensive to everything O'Neill felt about his government and his nation, that if it ever got out what they had done to her there would be rioting in the streets.

Although he had claimed that the file and what it showed changed nothing regarding their own issue with Miss Summers, O'Neill privately admitted he had been badly shaken by the brutal, dispassionate images of torture and the clinical descriptions of her interrogators efforts to psychologically break the girl. O'Neill himself had faced torture more than once; by the Iraqi's, once by Sokar. He knew what she had endured. What she had somehow not just _survived_, but had the physical and mental toughness needed to emerge from something so barbaric with both mind intact and her ethics not permanently distorted by the experience. He also knew that just witnessing the short video clips on the dvd had broken something in Carter. She would never be able to think of her government in the same way again. Teal'c had not really been impacted all that much; he had already been on the girl's side, not offended as all to losing to a superior warrior in a fair fight. He made no secret of his approval for both her tactics and the test she had devised to determine whether she could fight the Goa'uld on her own. Their only bit of good luck was that Jackson had been working in his lab at the time and hadn't seen the disk. O'Neill knew that his friend's reaction to it would have been… unpleasant.

None of it changed the fact that they still had to question the girl. But, of course, it changed everything. When he went over the plan of action with the men and women who would be charged with carrying it out, O'Neill made it abundantly, overwhelmingly clear that if the girl were 'accidentally' killed, or subject to anything but the most disciplined of military security procedures once captured, he would personally see to it that the perpetrator of said unprofessional conduct would be subject to a very up-close-and-personal demonstration of his unhappiness. His eyes, his entire demeanor had expressed so much barely-controlled rage that the room had gone dead silent, not a single person doubting for an instant that he meant what he said, and that the consequences of not meeting the standard he demanded would be very, very severe.

There were 22 front-line teams in the SGC order of battle, two of them company sized. Those two teams, SG-13 and SG-18, were not called upon very often, but when they were it was inevitably to contain a situation already devolving rapidly from 'furball' to full-blown 'clusterfuck.' Which meant that the members of those teams had to be trained to a razors-edge, ready at a moments notice to mount either a rescue mission or a full-scale armed assault, but normally spent a lot of time doing exactly nothing. Under ordinary circumstances it would be ludicrous to pit either of those teams against one little girl. Pitting _both_ of them against one little girl, even one who had kicked the crap out of a Jaffa of Teal'c caliber, didn't seem to be a worthy challenge. But that was just fine with SG-13 CO Lt. Col. Ash Fenton. He didn't like 'worthy challenges,' or 'fair fights,' or any of that other moronic 'Han fired second' crap. His job was to _win_, not to play nice. He didn't just believe in 'overkill;' he wanted to crank it all the way up to 'ludicrous kill' every time he faced an opponent.

By the time Ash was ready to deploy, over a hundred people were involved in the effort. Even the ambulance drivers and helicopter pilots were Special Forces trained. With the area conveniently isolated from the civilian population, he saw no reason to be subtle. One of the things he loved about the SGC was that nobody minded if it took a sledge hammer to drive home a nail, so long as the sumbitch got drove. It was the philosophy Ash lived by.

* * *

She didn't know what it was that woke her, but instantly realized that she had waited too long before relocating. Nothing was visible so far, she couldn't even hear anything, but seconds after awakening from a sound sleep, Buffy was preparing to bail. She put on her leather pants, not only because if it came down to a fight she wanted to look good, but because they were a lot tougher than cotton and provided far less of an infra red signature. Leather jacket, thin leather gloves, and a thick woolen toque were for the same purpose. Grabbing the emergency pack and crossbow, she was heading for the wall no more than 60 seconds from the moment her sleep had been suddenly disturbed.

Her night vision wasn't as good as her opponents would have using electronic imaging devices, but she didn't need to see too well to find the cable she had carefully concealed. Climbing it, swinging into the warehouse, she kept to the deepest of the dark shadows as she quickly reached the rusting steel roof trusses. The concrete support anchors provided even more cover as she waited, silent, finally hearing the barely-perceptible sounds of cloth scraping against metal, leather sliding along rope. Whoever the invaders were, their noise discipline was amazing. They were so quiet she couldn't get a count on how many there were; but it was a lot more than she had expected.

When she moved in, Buffy had assessed the location as if it were a vampire nest, then considered how she would have attacked it. She went over all of the assumptions she would make in determining her plan of action, and then carefully set things up so that anyone else would encounter exactly what she would have expected to meet up with were she in their place. So there was a chemical heat source on the top floor of the warehouse, trip wires and what looked like jury-rigged explosives along the breaks in the walls. It wouldn't quite take an army to attack the top floor, but everything was designed to indicate that was where she was sleeping, and that it would take some serious firepower to penetrate her lair.

She had actually set up house on the _third_ floor because there was a small break in the wall which was hidden from anything but a close look. Hidden well away from the location Buffy herself would have attacked, given a similar tactical situation, she was able to reach the roof and wedge herself into a prepared, extremely defensible position before the attackers made their move. Even had she not been given an early warning Buffy figured she had a shot at escaping the initial attack, depending on how serious they were about it. Once she was above the warehouse, light from the stars shining through the holes in the walls, she was able to see that they were really, _really_ serious about it. Her eyes could just barely see the infrared lasers of their guns' aiming systems, which would normally have been invisible even to a Slayer were there more ambient light. She counted a _lot_ of beams.

It was a good thing she had trained with Riley's commando unit so had a fair appreciation for the difference between human and vamp tactics. She hadn't purchased a gas mask, figuring the size of the warehouse and the open walls would make gas ineffective, but she paused a moment to put in earplugs and put on her goggles. They would almost certainly uses 'flash-bangs,' stun grenades that would temporarily render her deaf and blind if she wasn't prepared. If she was properly prepared, she hoped to be able to use the distraction of their assault to cover her escape. As ready as she could be, she settled into her concealed bolt-hole and waited for the action to start.

Being the impatient sort, she was agreeably surprised when she didn't have to wait very long. Unfortunately she was also the curious sort, so had been caught glancing down when the first flash-bangs were tossed through the open window leading to the top office floor. Even muffled by the concealing wall, the sudden, incredibly loud banging noise, immediately followed by an abrupt flash of sun-bright light, dazzled her. The first was instantly followed by a dozen more, as they blew holes in the roof and dropped the stun grenades, before men rappelled down nylon ropes into the office in a carefully choreographed pattern. Although her night vision had been a bit impaired in one eye by the sudden onset of their assault, Buffy was instantly in motion, snaking through a small seam in the broken wall to reach the outside of the building, hopefully in a place no one was watching.

To her annoyance they had enough manpower to be watching everywhere. The long column of rebar, which just happened to be located near her exit and could be used to climb down to within a dozen feet of the ground, had attracted the attention of one of the dozens of men she could see her vantage point standing guard. Only a second had passed since the initial sounds of the attack, so Buffy waited, hoping they would be distracted by something, anything that would let her make her move. When long seconds passed and the guard didn't turn away, but was no longer only looking up but also watching to his left and right, Buffy felt chances were things weren't going to get any better so she would have to act.

Jumping out from the concealed crack, she grabbed the rebar and slid down it with the friction from one hand just barely breaking her freefall, dropping so fast that the man below didn't have time to bring his weapon into play from the time she jumped until she dropped to the ground only a few steps away from him. Moving with Slayer speed she kicked out, trusting that his headgear was strong enough to keep his head from being crushed because she really needed to make sure he stayed down, so hit him pretty much as hard as she could. Not even watching where he dropped, she was already in motion, rushing towards the second guard a dozen feet away to her left, ducking down when he brought his weapon up, knocking his legs out from under him, a quick chop to the throat ensuring he stayed down.

Rolling and leaping to her feet, already running towards her planned evacuation point, she noted in passing that the man had been carrying a Taser. In fact, _everyone_ she had seen had been carrying either Taser's or similarly non-lethal weapons. It made her clench her teeth in frustration, because if they weren't out to kill _her_, she wasn't allowed to kill _them_, not even inadvertently. And there were a lot more of them than there were of her, they were really good at their jobs, and they were already reacting to the warning that she was outside the warehouse and running.

About fifty feet from the warehouse was a pile of rubble, her first checkpoint. Unfortunately, and indicating that these people were a different kettle of fish from the NID retards she had dealt with previously, they had staked out the pile with three guards who saw her just a fraction of a second before Buffy, running full out, saw them. All three fired their Tasers within a half a second of each other, the laser acting not only as an aiming point but allowing them to hold down the trigger, the gun not firing until the laser determined that she was within range. Even to a Slayer the shock of the three simultaneous blasts of electricity hit like a freight train, 50,000 volts surging through her body, bypassing the brain and locking almost every muscle into rigidity. But she _was_ a Slayer, one who might face enemies with a similar electrical defense mechanism, and her body adapted to the attack within seconds, far sooner than the calmly approaching men expected. The first they realized that she wasn't helpless was when she jumped up, kicking the closest man in the head, came down with her body twisting to sweep the legs out from under the second, and grabbed the arm of the third, lifted him bodily to crash his full weight down on the prone –but until that point conscious—body of his partner.

Her eyes were suddenly blinded by the glare of a searchlight shining down from a rapidly-approaching helicopter. Jumping instantly out of the glare, rolling, grabbing the crossbow from its secure position at her back, she sprinted for the concealment of the rubble pile, and cocked and loaded the weapon. The glare of the searchlight partly blinded her from seeing the helicopter, but she had a pretty good idea where the engine intake would be and let loose. It was a military helicopter, with baffles protecting the air intake vents from small-arms fire; but a bullet didn't have a fraction of the kinetic energy an arrow driven by the sort of pull a Slayer's crossbow could handle. Almost instantly the helicopter swung away, one engine seizing and having to be shut down by a pilot who was almost certainly as astonished as he was livid by the affront.

Still, the pilot had done his job, pinpointing her location for the people on the ground. But most of them had been in the warehouse for the assault, and most of the exits from the warehouse were on the other side of the building, something Buffy had deliberately planned and now hoped to use the few dozen seconds it would take them to reach her to make her escape. Knowing how much they would be counting on the advantage given by their thermal night-sights, she had previously placed some oil-soaked wooden beams in the rubble pile, and quickly reached for the lighter she had cached near the wood to start a small fire. Then she ran, because within a few seconds the small fire wasn't so small, and it got progressively larger as she ran along the shadows provided by the rubble pile.

With the fire lighting up the entire area, her night vision was suddenly better than her opponents, and Buffy exploited that fact ruthlessly as she came upon more of them, now easily visible to her despite their fancy military camouflage jumpsuits due to the light of the raging bonfire. Coming out from the shadows, the dancing flames causing so many signs of movement they never saw her until she was among them, Buffy lashed out at the nearest man with her feet, mowing them down with all the skill she had learned during her years as a Slayer.

Her opponents were not stupid men, or egotistical vampires either, and quickly tried to use their numbers to hold her off while the man farthest away used his weapon; but unfortunately he already knew from his compatriots that the Taser had proven ineffective and the only other non-lethal weapon in his possession fired rubber bullets. The others delayed her long enough for him to get a shot off, but it had about the effect he expected and he decided to try using the gun as a club when the other four men fell before her in seconds and he was the only one left standing. She was too damn good for that as well, the gun never coming near her as she lashed out with a foot, smashing it back into his chest, and knocked him flying. She was long gone by the time he was able to get his wind back and regain his feet, so he rushed over to ensure that the others were still alive, cursing into his microphone.

Buffy's plan had been to make her way to the fence to the north of the abandoned area, to reach a truck lot where hundreds of parked trailer units would have provided plenty of cover to make her escape. To the south it was more open, but it was military land where she had no idea what to expect. Unfortunately her opponents had anticipated that she would be moving north if she somehow escaped from the warehouse, and had set up their command post in the area she found herself heading towards. Her first indication that she was in trouble was when another searchlight caught her dead to rights, running along the ground with almost no cover available. She reacted instantly however, rolling, coming up with a rock, and threw it at the light.

Once, Riley had annoyed her by claiming that she threw like a girl. Her rebuttal had been that she threw like a girl who could throw a baseball at nearly 150 miles per hour, which even he admitted had been a pretty damned good rebuttal. So despite the distance to the light the rock she launched took it out like a guided missile. The abrupt darkness helped conceal her, but they knew where she was now and Buffy ran as fast as she could to the east, away from the warehouses where most of the attackers could be seen in the flickering glow of the roaring fire she had set only a few minutes earlier. There was more concealment there, but it also led to residential areas and Buffy had a pretty good idea that if she headed for civilian populated areas, her opponents might feel they had no choice but to escalate the measures they were prepared to take to stop her.

With no choice she ran, and then dropped, crawled, got to a crouch and ran some more, hiding and watching and desperately trying to figure out a way to prevent her numerically-superior opponents from encircling her and cutting off any avenue of escape. Those people were really starting to piss her off, because their tactics weren't like those of any opponent she had ever faced, except to some degree Riley's commandoes. They didn't back off. They didn't panic. They didn't pout, or blame each other, or fight among themselves. They were like machines, constantly regrouping, constantly adapting, constantly cutting her off from areas she wanted to reach, continually tightening the noose as they confined her to a smaller and smaller area. Even knowing they were doing it, Buffy couldn't figure out a way to escape the trap. There was just too many of them, with too much backup, so she was never able to open a big enough break in their perimeter to work her way though without them being able to adjust.

Unless she was prepared to raise the ante and start doing things that were almost certain to get people killed, even she could see that it was inevitable that they would sooner or later corner her in a place where the net-launcher guns they had would wrap her up in rope, or the drugged-dart guns would find her, and that would be all she wrote. They had learned the hard way that if they came at her in three-man units she could take them out so fast nobody even knew they were down until they didn't respond to radio checks. But _three_ three-man teams, operating together, ensured that those coordinating the effort were constantly aware of her activities, able to update their other units to cover any move she might make. So even if she was willing to use lethal force –and until _they_ did, she _wasn't_—they would be in a position to bring far more firepower to bear than she could withstand. The truth was, they were hobbled far more by being limited to using non-lethal weapons than she was.

Increasingly frustrated, and increasingly worried about what might happen if she was captured and taken back into NID custody, Buffy tried everything she could think of, every stratagem learned during her long and brutal career. She was able to sneak up and incapacitate entire groups of her opponents, sneak around others, even get a few to attack each other, but they always figured things out too quickly, adapted too professionally for her to exploit any break in their encirclement. And the closer they tightened their line, the more limited her options became. They were the best Buffy had ever faced… and she was afraid that she might not be able to get away from them.

* * *

Seated in his command post truck on the road just outside the fence encircling the abandoned area, Jack O'Neill clenched his jaw so tightly he wondered if he might end up driving his teeth right through his jawbone. Yelling wouldn't accomplish anything. If it could, the tirade Ash Fenton had been unleashing for the past half hour would have been sufficient for the job. In fact there was a lot of screaming going on, as frustrated, enraged men and women cursed their commanders, their colleagues, and especially their target as she almost effortlessly bypassed yet another 'foolproof' trap, forcing them to redeploy and try yet again. Nobody could believe what was happening. Nobody could believe that one little girl was making them look so bad.

Fenton's plan had been thorough. As usual with Fenton it had been ludicrously manpower inefficient, but he had the bodies available so nobody saw much point in letting them go to waste. Everyone had been confident, even cocky given the odds and the opposition they expected to face. They had executed the initial assault without a hitch. But then it had all gone from sugar to shit.

Everyone had _known_ that she was on the top floor of the abandoned warehouse offices. All the sensors had indicated it, and the plans had been formulated around that given fact. So all of their best men were tasked to that location, leaving mostly new fish to stand guard outside and watch the fireworks. Only she _hadn't_ been where they expected. Later they would locate her bed on the third floor, where she had probably been listening to her friggin' _ipod_ when they went in. At first they hadn't even realized she wasn't where they thought she was. Too many flash-bangs had gone off and started a small fire where they thought she was sleeping, the nightscopes were saturated, and by the time they put out the fire and realized nobody was in the burning sleeping bag, the calls from the unfortunate perimeter guards were coming in fast and furious.

At first nobody had believed them. They were green, some had never even been Offworld, so were probably imagining things. But more and more fell out of contact, others insisted on describing someone capable of doing impossible things, and by the time they figured out what was happening she was already on the ground, away from most of their manpower, and heading for population.

He still had problems believing the kid had been able to take out a Blackhawk helicopter with a friggin' _crossbow,_ for cryin' out loud! If he wasn't so figgin' pissed at her might even be impressed. But eight more people on the ground were out of communication, and it took a few minutes to verify that they were only unconscious and not dead. Those had been a long few minutes. They got lucky when the truck hit her with the spotlight –he still didn't know how the hell she had taken it out from so far away- and were able to deploy their remaining assets well enough to delay her until the rest of the men could be moved from the warehouse to the perimeter, gradually isolating and confining her. But they'd done it half a dozen times, and each time she'd found a way out, each time taking out more people with martial arts moves none of them could believe. He figured they were slowly wearing her down, leaving her fewer options, leaving her nowhere to run. But privately he was pretty worried about what might happen when they did. This kid had already taken out eighteen heavily armed, heavily armored, and expertly trained commandoes. Most would only need to stay in the hospital for observation because that was SOP after suffering a concussion, but ten also had broken bones. What she might do when finally trapped, with no way out, was anybody's guess.

O'Neill scowled and looked away as Ash went off on another tirade as some poor bastard had to report that she had once again worked her way through their inner perimeter and they were once again redeploying to limit her movements to the east. Unfortunately turning away from Fenton meant he had to look at Teal'c, who was sitting there with an open, obvious, and proud smile on his face, the only one of the eight people in the truck wearing such an expression. He wasn't in the slightest upset over the disaster that had befallen them or the failure to capture someone whose abilities suggested she wasn't quite human and therefore potentially an enemy. Teal'c was in fact openly cheering for the girl. And despite O'Neill's growled accusation that he just wanted her to win so that he wouldn't be the only one to have lost to her, Teal'c wasn't doing it out of pride. He figured she had proven herself to be an honorable opponent, one who deserved better than to be run down like a great jungle cat being brought down by individually insignificant but a numerically overwhelming pack of wild dogs.

It was a metaphor O'Neill could have happily lived without. With the operation going straight to hell and instead of being over in seconds now nearing the forty minute mark, they had attracted far too much attention. There was a residential neighborhood only a few hundred yards away, and the presence of so much military hardware and personnel had not gone unnoticed despite the late hour. When a tv truck from the local media showed up Carter had come to their rescue, explaining that one of their people had been accidentally injected with a psychotropic drug during a chemical warfare exercise, and they wanted to capture him themselves. Because of his training and the effects of the drug the police would have no choice but to use deadly force if they tried to take him in. Their people had volunteered to put themselves at risk if it meant a chance for them to capture him alive. The reporter had bought the story, but it wouldn't mean anything if the girl got away. Or people died trying to capture her.

He looked over at Teal'c, who was studying the monitors, noting the same pattern O'Neill could see evolving. Despite the fact that she had just escaped, she hadn't gotten away, and they were getting closer each time. The end game would soon be at hand, when she would have to decide how far she was willing to go to stay free. To remain out of the hands, for all she knew, and O'Neill now knew, of the people who had done unspeakable things to her not that long ago. He knew what he would do to ensure he would never have to go back to face something like that, and looking at his friend, he could tell that Teal'c was thinking the same thing. "You're gonna have to talk to her."

The massive Jaffa warrior raised an eyebrow. "I will not lie to her, O'Neill. She fought honorably, and was magnanimous in victory. I will not tell her we will treat her with equal honor, only to betray my word and permit her to be returned to the sub-human _cofach_ who did such things to her. If we offer her an honorable surrender, the terms on our side must be equally honorable. In your own words, we must be willing to offer her a 'deal.' What sort of _deal_ may I offer her, O'Neill?"

The Colonel scowled, knowing that his friend was going to ask that, but hoping he would have just been satisfied with letting the girl live. The big Jaffa was a warrior, and he obviously considered her to be one as well. To warriors like Teal'c, there were worse things than death. What he had seen on the dvd had been one of those things. "Tell her we're not the NID."

"No, we are not. But the SGC is subservient to the government of the United States, and if that government commands you to turn the young warrior over to the NID, you will have no choice but to comply. This is not acceptable."

O'Neill sighed. "It isn't just her, Teal'c. If she decides to go down fighting then a lot of people are going to die. She doesn't know they aren't NID. You've seen what she can do. If she decides to go out in a blaze of glory a lot of those kids won't be going home tonight. Is that fair?"

"As you have so often pointed out, O'Neill, life itself is rarely 'fair.' If you wish to save the men under your command, you have the power to call off this attack. This would save far more of them than might be saved through my deceiving the girl and sacrificing her –as well as my own—honor in order to capture her, would it not?"

Already deep scowl deepening further, O'Neill glared at the monitor in front of him, wondering if there was anything he could offer, or if it would be best just to let it play out. Without another word he stood up and left the truck, and made his way over to the fence. He couldn't see anything of the life-and-death struggle happening not that far from where he stood. The fire had gone out, and his people were now using their night-vision goggles. How the girl could see in those conditions was anyone's guess, but the hard evidence suggested she could see just fine. And empirical evidence indicated she was also smart enough to see what was coming. He didn't think anyone was going to be happy with whatever decision she reached about how she intended to meet it. Least of all him.

Whatever his other failings –and O'Neill knew he had a lot of them—he'd never offered up a young girl to be tortured. Yes, he was pissed off with her attitude. But if attitude meant you were fit to be tortured then he was a dead man. He nodded to himself. It didn't matter what decision she came to because O'Neill had already come to an unofficial decision of his own. No matter what happened, he would not allow that girl to be returned to the slimy paws of the NID. No matter what she had done, no matter what she knew, she didn't deserve that. He was an officer in the United States Air Force, subject to the rules and regulations governing the actions and behavior of a person in his capacity… but that was not a price his country could ask of him. Almost anything else; but not _that_. Teal'c wasn't the only one who knew a thing or two about honor.

Grabbing the cutters from the tool locker, O'Neill cut a hole in the fence and entered. Dropping the cutters, he headed off towards the place he figured the girl would be considering for her last stand. He couldn't see a damned thing, and there were chunks of concrete and rebar and all sorts of crap lying all around, making footing treacherous. Fortunately he wasn't trying to be stealthy, so every time he tripped he muttered curses over the girl, the idiotic situation he found himself in, and his own monumental stupidity for getting involved in the friggin' mess in the first place. He was unarmed, he couldn't see a goddamn thing, and he was doing something that stood a very good chance of being suicidally moronic. It would be a sad, sad end to what had otherwise been a pretty decent career.

He kinda expected to run into his own troops first, given that they were supposedly surrounding the girl. But the first he knew he was in the right area was when something slammed into him, hard, knocking him down, and arms as strong as steel cables wrapped around his throat and behind his head. Even if he wanted to resist he couldn't move. Winded, he could feel his body being effortlessly twisted to provide cover for her, being lifted and controlled with unbelievable ease and strength. In seconds he could hear a muffled curse and suddenly a light was shining on him, the soldiers abandoning their stealthy approach when they realized that the girl had done something unexpected, and now had a hostage.

There were more curses when they realized who her hostage was. O'Neill tried to speak, but the arm crushing his throat made that impossible, made even breathing pretty damned difficult. His hands had reflexively risen in an effort to pull her arm away, but couldn't budge it. She had twisted his body into a position where he had no leverage, could do nothing to affect the situation he had deliberately brought about. But when he done it, he had expected to be able to explain what he was trying to accomplish. The way things stood he couldn't explain a damned thing to anyone.

When more lights came on as additional troops ran over, the girl raised his head slightly so they could see who she had. "Back off. I can snap his neck before you can shoot."

O'Neill didn't know who responded, but could tell from the tone that the man was furious. "He dies; you die."

The girl laughed bitterly. "No shit, Sherlock. But since the 'me dying' part was already in the cards, I figure this gives me just a bit of an advantage in the threat department."

The soldiers appeared to think the same way, because they didn't come any closer. When one tried to circle around her the girl just glanced over at him, and he instantly stopped. Evidently they had learned to respect her senses because nobody even tried to sneak up on her. O'Neill tried to speak; a muffled gasp that she quickly choked off, along with what little remained of his air supply.

The spokesman for the circling soldiers noticed the attempt, however. "Why don't you let him talk? He must have had some goddamn reason for wandering into a fucking hot zone like a _fucking retard_!" O'Neill had expected the troops would not be happy with him. Apparently he was right about that.

After a second or two the girl released her choke hold just barely enough for him to breathe, and then enough to whisper painfully. "We're not the NID."

Unfortunately she was thinking a lot like Teal'c. "Like that would make any difference when they come to take me back."

There wasn't time to be wishy-washy about it, so O'Neill gave it to her straight. "We won't give you to them. Period. My word on it."

His pledge surprised her, like it was probably surprising the people back in the truck who would be listening in using either boom mikes or the suit radios on one of the observing soldiers. After a second the girl, to his considerable annoyance, rejected his offer. "Thanks. Appreciate the thought. But personally I doubt if you're in a position to make it stick, Colonel. They won't honor it, and you know it."

"You don't know how much clout we have. If I give my word the government will live with it. They won't be happy, but they'll abide by any agreement I make. Given what we do, they have to."

She gave a kind of lady-like snort of contempt, but O'Neill could detect the frustration and fear behind it. "Not these people. They'll burn you if they have to, if it means getting me back. They can be _real_ persuasive if anyone objects. The politicians are a lot more afraid of crossing them than they are of burning you."

O'Neill was getting a bit frustrated himself, not to mention sore given the way she had his body tied into a pretzel. "Well, for crissakes lady, it's not like you've got a lot of options! Either you die here –_we_ die here!—or you take a chance. Maybe not a good one, but it's the only one you've got at the moment. You _know_ what we do; you _know_ how far our reach extends. We can put you somewhere they can't find you. Yeah, they'll probably be pretty pissed about it. My heart bleeds. But _we_ just want to talk to you. Hell, isn't that why you're _here_! If you didn't want to give us another chance to listen you'd be long gone by now. Well here's your chance. We're listening. Enough of this Mexican standoff bullshit! I'm getting on in years here, and my back is killing me. Make the friggin' call."

It took long seconds for her to think it over. To his own private amusement, O'Neill was more annoyed than afraid. The girl just didn't have it in her to kill him when there was _any_ alternative, even one that she probably figured sucked the big one. So he wasn't surprised when she slowly released him. And because he also knew his men, he was even less surprised when the instant she was no longer in a position to snap his neck, about ten of them fired simultaneously, darts impacting everywhere in her torso, injecting enough drugs to stop a charging rhino in its tracks, and enough nets were fired to wrap her up in a cocoon. She dropped like a tree falling, knees unable to bend due to the thickness of the entangling ropes. A very _small_ tree, O'Neill thought, as he stood and started issuing orders.


	12. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

**Far Beyond Normal**

**Chapter Eleven**

Consciousness returned slowly, in stages, nightmare-filled dreams gradually focusing to comprehend grim reality. She was awake, in a hospital bed, arms and legs both shackled securely to the metal frame. There was no way to hide the fact that she was awake after she instinctively tested the strength of the restraints binding her to the bed. King Kong might have been able to break the chains, but Buffy quickly figured out she couldn't. A flashback to awakening in the NID detention center had her almost quaking in fear, and she couldn't prevent herself from flinching when someone gently touched her neck, checking for a pulse.

"Please be calm. I'm a doctor." The voice was professionally soothing, timbre controlled, words enunciated precisely. The voice of someone who knew just what her patient was going through and doing her best to reassure her that things were under control. When Buffy slowly opened her eyes she met them directly, her expression careful to display neither condescension nor judgment. "You are in a hospital. You are not injured. You were knocked out with a very safe sedative that so far as I can determine has had absolutely no adverse effects on you. At the moment I am performing a routine physical examination; the same examination given to everyone who works at this facility. It will include x-rays, gas-trace and blood analysis, the removal of a small tissue sample for DNA examination, as well as the standard EEG, EKG, and other tests. None will be either invasive or abusive. You will feel no pain.

"So far as I have been able to determine, medically speaking, you're fine. Human too, and there was some question about that. You could probably stand to gain a few pounds, but other than that I haven't found anything wrong with you." The doctor was a very attractive red-head in her late thirties or early forties, with a no-nonsense, professional air about her very different that that of her colleagues Buffy remembered dealing with at the NID facility. "Understand me, Miss Summers. I… am… a… doctor. Period. I will examine you. I will treat you if you are sick. I will in no way, shape, or form participate in, or condone, the use of torture on one of my patients. Once you leave this room, well, that is beyond my control. But when you are under my care you are _my patient_. Nothing more, and nothing less."

She met Buffy's eyes steadily, without flinching, her calm expression conveying a 'no-nonsense' air that instantly put her in the top percentile of all the doctors Buffy had ever met. Just to test her limits, she twisted her wrist a bit, just to bring attention to the padded leather shackles. Her already-high opinion of the doctor went up another notch when the woman got the hint, and met it face-on without embarrassment or prevarication. "The restraints are for _my_ protection. In the other ward are 27 very tough and very dangerous men who had the misfortune of trying to prevent you from leaving somewhere you didn't want to be. Since you likely don't want to be _here_ either, and I am neither very tough nor particularly dangerous, I would rather not join them in that ward after attempting to stop you from trying to leave. So the restraints stay."

Under the circumstances even Buffy had to admit privately that it was a pretty reasonable precaution, so she settled from quietly mumbling how ludicrous it was for the doctor not to consider herself 'tough.' She had no doubt that every one of those commandoes regarded the doctor with far more terror than they did her. She then spent the next hour whining, bitching, and generally being an even worse patient than she usually was as the doctor poked, prodded, and jabbed her delicate body with random instruments of torture. The doctor –Janet Fraser, she introduced herself during one of the few breaks in Buffy's tirade—offered to explain the purpose of each tool, each examination, but Buffy was far more interested in complaining than learning. Given her present circumstances and recent experiences, she was terrified, and overcompensated by being just plain bitchy. To her considerable surprise the doctor took her tantrum in stride, was neither insulted nor intimidated, and even occasionally snuck in a quick, subtlety insulting retort that Buffy usually missed until a few minutes later when it was too late for a suitable come-back.

Even worse, Fraser asked a lot of questions, some so insightful Buffy was momentarily struck speechless, and occasionally even tempted to answer just to get feedback from someone so intellectually formidable on her own physical capabilities. But she reminded herself that she was a prisoner, she was not among friends, and for all she knew she could be in for a repeat of her experiences while a 'guest' of the NID, only this time conducted by more competent people. Just to drive that point home she casually brought it up a few times, comparing the light tapping of a reflex test to the way the NID had used hammers to break her legs to see how long they took to heal, or a gently-offered glass of water to the waterboarding process, an experience she went on to describe in nauseating detail. Fraser's mouth tightened during those moments. Even Buffy knew it was unfair to compare her thoroughly professional examination to that of the NID sadists, but she was scared stiff and worried about her future and lashed out with the only weapon she had left; her mouth.

Once more surprising Buffy, the doctor brought over her charts once the exam was completed and went though a few of the results, explaining discrepancies she uncovered and her guesstimates as to their meaning. It was a sneaky and evil thing to do, because she provided so much information about the physical and chemical processes going on within her body Buffy felt compelled to respond to some of the results that confused the woman. Frasier was fascinated when Buffy confirmed that her height did vary by an inch or two, her legs growing a bit longer one year, shorter the next. Her hair and eyes also changed color, again over the course of a year or more, so gradually few people even noticed unless they hadn't seen her in awhile. Frasier showed her x-rays of her skull, showing the secondary teeth buried behind her primaries, ready to drop and replace any tooth she lost during a fight. Nearly a dozen of those replacement teeth were gone, having dropped to take the place of the teeth smashed by NID interrogators, and she said that if she lost one of them it would take about six weeks for a new replacement to grow. Buffy also admitted that she seemed to be immune to all bacterial infections, but reacted to viruses the same way everyone else did.

Telling herself she wasn't giving away any secrets because the NID would have already had similar results from their far more painful tests, Buffy figured that at worst she was diverting an obviously-fascinated Frasier from torturing her by answering, and had the added benefit of learning a bit about herself from an expert. But all good things must come to an end, and Frasier was diverted from the conversation she would obviously have been glad to continue all day when one of the guards cleared her throat. There were three of them, all more-or-less female, all heavily armored, all so still as to be unobtrusive. None of them had said a word during the entire exam, and didn't then, one of them simply deliberately pointing to her watch.

Frasier's eyes hardened in anger at the interruption, knowing she had finally been able to break through the girl's defensive walls, but then sighed, acknowledging that, like everyone else at the SGC, she was subject to orders, and her time with the amazing girl was up. She politely excused herself and left the examination room.

* * *

Some time passed before the doctor returned. Buffy rested, still feeling the effects of the drugs in her system. She didn't want to talk to the guards and they were likely under orders not to talk to her. Only when Frasier came back and nodded to them did two of them approach the bed, the third remaining as far away as possible, her hand held over an alarm trigger. The two who came over to the bed were incredibly professional in the way they released her. Before any limb was released from the bed it was first secured by a second chain. She was ordered, in a no-nonsense tone which tolerated no opposition, to twist her arms and legs into various contortions as each was released, shackles attached, but freed from the bed.

They had to help her to her feet, but were very careful to be both dispassionate and constantly on their guard when they did so. One of them even went so far as to ensure that the hospital gown was securely fastened and nothing embarrassing was showing. It was far from the treatment she had received at the hands of the NID. Only when she was presentable was the door opened –from the outside; it couldn't be opened from within, Buffy noticed—and another guard entered. This one was armed, carrying a dart gun, and he gestured for her to precede him out through the door. Outside was an oval shaped, concrete lined corridor, where five additional armed and armored guards awaited. The three female-ish guards from the examination room picked up weapons from their colleagues and took their positions behind her, the new guards deployed ahead of her.

It looked ridiculous. They were all more than six feet tall and with all their equipment looked like Battletech droids. Buffy had put on ten pounds and grown an inch since escaping the NID, but still barely topped five feet tall, and hadn't gotten up to the hundred pound mark yet. She was wearing a hospital gown and socks, plus chains extending from a metal collar around her neck, to another around her waist, extending down to padded leather shackles on her ankles. Another chain going between her ankles ensured that she couldn't separate her legs by more than about eight inches. Her wrists were similarly shackled, a metal bar holding them six inches apart, chains from the waist-band ensuring she couldn't move her arms more than a few inches in any direction. Two guards preceded her, one was on either side holding an arm, three more were behind, all wearing full battle gear. Two others had gone off ahead of the procession to block anyone from entering the tunnel at any intersection. Buffy had a mental image of the FBI bringing in Hannibal Lector during 'Silence of the Lambs' and grinned at the ridiculous image.

Unfortunately for her, the escort commander, walking separately from the guards, noticed the wry smile and misinterpreted it. He lifted his dark face shield to meet her eyes with a hard glare. But like everyone else she had met so far, he didn't lose his cool or his professionalism. "We were all there last night. We know what you can do. I would not advise you to try anything. You will obey all of my instructions without hesitation. If you struggle, if you resist, if you do _anything_ except instantly follow every order given to you, you will _instantly_ be rendered unconscious. Am I clear?"

Despite her normal instinct to refuse orders, Buffy swallowed on a suddenly dry throat and muttered a quiet "Yes, sir." There was something intimidating about their dispassionate professionalism. Where the leering and sadistic brutality of the NID goons had enraged her, the unemotional way these people simply treated her as a dangerous threat which might be temporarily neutralized left her feeling a bit intimidated. To the NID she had been an object to be crushed; these guys thought she was a bomb ready to go off at the slightest touch. In their own way, they were afraid of her. But these were people who knew how to deal with things they feared.

It really sucked. Given that they were scared of her, she should have been able to follow Dr. Lector's example and show some badd-ass attitude, able to send out waves of psychic intimidation, terrifying everyone who saw her with the thought that she was just one tiny mistake away from getting loose, ripping out their livers, eating it raw, and chasing it down with a nice bottle of Chianti. Instead she was tied down, completely under their control, and she knew it. And she was _sulking_ about it! She just knew her bottom lip was jutting forward in a frustrated pout. So much for being intimidating.

Once they got moving Buffy had to shuffle forward in tiny eight-inch increments, and be careful of her balance given the weight of all the chains on the front of her body, throwing off her center of mass. The guards didn't force her to go too fast, but neither did they allow her to walk needlessly slow. Curious onlookers watched her at each tunnel intersection, held back by one of the forward guards. Again, they displayed none of the leering she recalled seeing in the eyes of the workers at the NID facility, nor did anyone talk to her at all, let alone make sneering comments like she also remembered. That thought alone was enough to stop her sulking, and she had to damp down her fury. The open curiosity and interested speculation on the expressions of these people showed once again they were a far cry from their NID counterparts, and perhaps didn't deserve to be tarred with the same brush.

Eventually they reached a short corridor where a large steel door barred their way, the SGC crest affixed to it. Her escort dropped away as the door was opened from the inside, and only the two guards holding her arms entered with her, helping her climb a short flight of steps since the chain prevented her feet from reaching the step above. Finally they entered a meeting room; big table, nice chairs all around it, plasma display units on three walls. Cheap bookshelves lined one of the walls, the rest we bare concrete painted an ugly green. At one end of the table sat a portly bald man, his uniform bearing two gold stars on each shoulder. Along the sides of the table were the members of SG-1, Fraser, and several men in battledress uniform whom she didn't recognize. She was silently guided to the chair at the end of the table opposite the general and helped into it. The seat was too high for someone of her stature; her feet didn't touch the ground once the guards lifted her into it. Nobody offered to adjust it. She felt like a schoolgirl called into the Principal's office.

The two guards who had lifted her then left the room, leaving only the guard detail leader, who moved over to a corner of the room behind her chair and stood silently, never taking his eyes off her. The General ignored him, as did everyone else, their full and undivided attention on their prisoner. If they expected the silent treatment to bother her they were doomed to disappointment. Like so many other things, Buffy's babbling days were long behind her.

To his credit, the General realized that fact pretty quickly. "Do you know who I am, Miss Summers?"

Buffy nodded, remembering his face not only from her dreams, but also from the files Willow had uncovered. "Major General George Hammond. You're in charge of the SGC."

"I'd really like to know how you come by that knowledge."

She smiled prettily, but it never reached her eyes. "I had a dream about you."

O'Neill snorted at that. "You seem to have a lot of dreams."

Buffy looked over at him and just shrugged, the chains jingling musically. "Not really." She didn't bother explaining that it was always the same dream. One good thing about being a prisoner was that you didn't have to be polite.

The General clued into that fact as well pretty quickly. Buffy was starting to get the idea that the portly guy didn't take long to clue into most things. "Was this the dream you discussed with Major Carter?"

It was Buffy's turn to snort derisively. 'Discuss' was an interesting way of putting it. "Pretty much. It's always the same dream, but sometimes the point of view changes a bit. The _outcome_ is always the same though. People are calling your name, tossing out info on the invasion fleet that by then is pretty useless. You already know you're screwed. You're only listening to Carter at that point."

Taking that as a queue, Carter spoke up. "You suggested I was telling the General that the Xerxes system was compromised, that it was deliberately missing targets, and refused to relinquish command authority to the NORAD protocols?"

Feeling herself blush, Buffy fidgeted slightly in her seat. "Right. _Xerxes_. Which is probably some kind of military acronym, which would make a whole lot more sense than letting a company that makes copiers defend the planet. Soooooo. Ahem, moving right along; you were saying it was sabotaged. You were really freaking out about it because none of the diagnostics were showing anything wrong, but the… Avenger cannons, or something like that, were missing their targets by like twenty feet, every time. The NORAD computers couldn't take over targeting because _Xerxes_ was saying _their_ targeting calculations were wrong, and wouldn't accept any override codes telling it to shut down or relinquish control of the cannons. You were really pissed off about it; it was your own code that was screwing up.

"The old guy," she nodded towards O'Neill, smiling when he scowled, offended by the deliberate insult "was trying to pull the plug using the manual cutoffs, but the system kept routing around it. It wouldn't accept any overrides. You might have figured out what the problem was if you had the time, but by then the big pyramid/saucer/spaceship thing was landing right on top of Cheyenne Mountain. Nukes going off all around Colorado Springs. It got pretty intense towards the end."

She could tell that Carter was devoting monumental effort to not give a lecture explaining why her story was unpossible, that it could never happen, that the protections built into the system could never be broached in such a manner. But she had probably mentioned that fact once or twice after her first encounter with Buffy and was under orders not to bring it up yet again until they heard her out. O'Neill, apparently was not, and couldn't prevent himself from jumping in. "What a load of crap! They simulated that exact scenario and it simply _doesn't happen_. Xerxes will pass on command authority when ordered, and the manual cutout's all work. I know the idea here is to see if there is anything to this, but it's _just a friggin' dream_! We're supposed to shut down the most sophisticated, most advanced, most _expensive_ weapons system in the history of the world because some loony chick had a _bad dream_! If she gave us a single fact, a single testable hint of what might go wrong it would be one thing; but she's given us _squat_! We _cannot_ justify reverting to the old system when we _know_ it had exploitable weaknesses, all of which Xerxes addresses and none of which have _ever_ been shown to be subject to failure."

Buffy just shrugged, and the General sighed, evidently hoping she would have more to offer. When she didn't, he spoke up. "I'm inclined to agree. Nothing you have offered suggests there is an actual catastrophic failure within the Xerxes system. I am not sanguine about dismissing the warnings of anyone with your proven capabilities, but we have modeled the exact scenario you have just outlined and there has never been the sort of computer malfunction you describe."

Not having expected much, Buffy wasn't overly surprised they would react the way they did, but sighed anyway. "Hence Carter freaking out in my vision. And just so you know; when I get a prophetic dream, it _always_ happens, unless I do something to stop it. I believe I already told you that she said something about there being a hidden trigger, something not tripped in the simulations, which only came into play when the Goold fleet arrived."

Teal'c calmly said "Goa'uld." Buffy looked at him, frowning. "That's what I said; Goold."

Her professionalism being challenged, Carter could no longer maintain her silence. "That scenario is _impossible_! The system will _not_ respond to remote codes! We programmed it that way, and every line of code has been verified by multiple independent teams. Sabotage along those lines is… it's… it's _not possible_!"

Buffy just looked at her. "To almost quote someone famous, 'And yet, it still happens.'" She looked up with a frown, thinking. "Darwin?" Carter muttered "Galileo" under her breath, and Buffy nodded.

Her calm certainty irritated the Colonel. "Look, Elizabeth…"

Buffy interrupted before he could get another word in. "Buffy."

Looking confused, O'Neill pointed down at the file on the table in front of him. "It says Elizabeth here…"

"So? What does it say on your file, _Jack_?"

Muttering just loud enough so everyone could overhear, Jackson verbalized what they were all thinking. "Two points for the little lady!"

That earned him a glare from the Colonel. "Well then, what the hell do you expect from us, _Buffy_? Do you really think we can arbitrarily change the entire defensive posture of the whole world just because you had a _bad dream_?"

He probably had more to say, but Buffy interrupted, her eyebrows raised in surprise. "I don't _expect_ anything from you! _You_ kidnapped _me_, remember? I figured I'd pass on the warning to Carter here, and she might or might not look into it. That's _your_ call. I've had the glorious experience of working with the military before, and figured there was about a 99 chance that the entire exercise was a waste of time and oxygen. But I had to _try_! The warning is all you get. That's all there is. I know you want it written out in triplicate, step by step instructions countersigned by all relevant authorities up the chain of command, but this is what a vision gives you. I knew you wouldn't believe it, and that's why I had my little tussle with Teal'c here. Once you morons go down in flames I'm going to be spending what little remains of my life fighting the damned snakes. Assuming I survive your spectacular flame out, of course."

When she saw their offended scowls, Buffy sneered, a gesture Jackson thought far too cynical and old for someone so young. But then he saw her eyes, sad, ancient eyes, and wondered what could have happened to a girl so young to give her eyes so old. And she wasn't finished with her tirade. "Oh, don't give me that 'We're heroes; we save the world every Friday and party-hardy all through Saturday' crap! The warning contains enough information to solve the problem; it always does. Don't blame me because you can't figure it out. I'm not the fucking Oracle! I'm just the messenger. Maybe it might help if you brought in some people who could think outside your nice tight military box in here, but that would involve telling the rest of the world that they were about to be _invaded and enslaved by aliens_, and we couldn't have that! It would upset the nice little private war you're running here if outsiders had a voice you had to listen to, and we couldn't have that now, could we?"

She wasn't winning herself any friends or any credibility with comments like that, and her attitude was really starting to get on O'Neill's nerves. "We're at _war_. Wars are generally fought by the military. Who do you think should handle it; the _UN_! Oh, yeah, that would work out well, given how effective they are running anything else. I would think that as an American…"

Buffy lost it. If it hadn't been for the restraints she might had attacked him. As it was, she suddenly smashed her hands into the table, thirty or so pounds of chain and steel gouging huge cuts into its once-pristine surface. "Don't you _dare_ question _my_ patriotism, you son of a bitch! Have you _seen_ what its really like outside of this mountain, Colonel? What's happening out there? This _isn't_ my country! This isn't _anything like _my country! I was thrown into prison without trial, _tortured,_ and it was all done _legally_! _You're_ the idiots turning _my_ country into a fucking _police state_, and you have the gall to question _my_ patriotism! If it wasn't for the poor innocent bastards they'd be taking down along with you, I'd be happy to sit back and watch the Goold do to you what _you_ did to _me_!"

O'Neill was furious. Everyone had been stunned by her tirade, the loud bang on the table bringing guards running. The military members of the group were too disciplined to respond until those guards were signaled to leave, leaving an opening for Jackson to innocently fill. "What are you talking about? We don't torture people." When he saw the abrupt changes of expression on the part of his companions, anger suddenly changing to embarrassment, he frowned. "We _don't_ torture people… _right_?"

When nobody else felt like answering, O'Neill muttered "We're at war." His response didn't go over too well with the girl, who simply snorted in contempt, but didn't say anything. He glared at her. "Look, I know it sucked, but mistakes happen. You survived and it's not like you have a bunch of scars or anything…" he trailed off, knowing that it was a pretty weak response when even Carter was glaring at him.

The doctor spoke up. "There aren't any scars on her, period. Not from all the darts that hit her last night. Not even from my needles when I took blood samples. Her body regenerates so quickly and efficiently that even quite severe wounds would heal within hours or days. So no matter what they did, any 'scarring' on her would be mental, Colonel. I'm sure you're aware of that aspect." She hadn't seen the video file, but she had been warned by the general that the girl had been treated 'badly' by the NID. Since it was relevant to her treatment program for her patient, they had no choice but to tell her. She was having a lot of trouble coming to terms with her suspicions as to what hadn't been said, however, since she had a fairly good idea just how 'badly' the NID was capable of acting.

When he saw how furious O'Neill was, Hammond put a ruthless clamp on his own emotions and cleared his throat to get everyone's attention, and restore order. "We are _not_ the NID, Miss Summers. We're had quite a few problems with them ourselves." He sighed, before meeting her eyes steadily. "What happened to you was illegal. It was wrong. It should not have happened. But it did. These are desperate times. The NID offers politicians quick and dirty solutions without regard to their long-term consequences. The 'global war on terror' is real, but it is also provides cover for the far more important war against the Goa'uld.

"I know this is no comfort to you, given your experience, but to meet the Goa'uld threat we have no choice but to use extraordinary measures, to do things we otherwise wouldn't. Your special abilities _could_ have indicated that you were, in fact, a Goa'uld, and given the damage you might have inflicted on this country and the defense of this planet, the most extreme methods were appropriate to contain that threat."

Even Buffy had been caught by surprise by the depth of her rage, and she was still struggling to control it. This wasn't the time to get in a pissing contest with the people who were in the best position to defend the Earth from the threat she could still foresee. But that wasn't the same as being willing to back down. She was all through with backing down to these people. "How hard is it to verify if someone is taken over by a Goold, General? I don't see how the part where they broke my legs with sledgehammers helped them verify I was snake-free. Or am I missing something, and that is a standard test?"

They all winced, Jackson going wide-eyed in horror. Before he could say anything, however, the general spoke up. "The problem with shortcuts is that you lose oversight, lose accountability. I realize this. I realize that some among the NID, some within the government itself, are using this opportunity for their own purposes, their own agendas. But the situation which precipitated this crisis really did require us to take immediate action, to take a shortcut so we could respond and contain the situation before it got out of hand.

"The Goa'uld were installing a StarGate somewhere in Iraq, with the complicity of the local government. We did not know where it was located. We could not permit such a 'back-door' invasion route to become operational. When the terrorist attacks of September 11 occurred we used it as justification for an invasion. There was no choice. And we couldn't explain the real reason for it without revealing the StarGate program, the Goa'uld, the reality of our place in the universe. It is the position of our present government, and of its predecessor I might add, that the world is not ready for that information. We can not count on the UN to run the program effectively. We have informed key allies of the truth, including the Russians, the British, the Canadians, and even the French. Allies who can actually help in our efforts and not hinder us from accomplishing what we must. Because the fact is, Miss Summers, we _must_ succeed. Our very survival depends on it.

"This does not mean that the Global War on Terror is any less real, or does not need to be fought for its own reasons. Terrorism _is_ a danger which needed to be addressed. But the truth is, the reason behind the war on terror is to provide cover for our own operations against the Goa'uld. I am sorry you got caught up in it, particularly in such an… unfortunate manner. But that doesn't mean the war doesn't need to be fought."

He met the girl's eyes steadily, and this time she was the first to blink. It was obvious he had given her a lot to think about, that his words had caught her by surprise. The fact that he had explained at all came as quite a shock to his colleagues as well. Hammond was usually a stickler for security, close-mouthed almost to a fault. It wasn't like him to provide such Top Secret information to a stranger, even one who knew far more about their operations than she should. He was, however, the man in charge, so when O'Neill made a sign of interrupting, Hammond made a tiny, almost imperceptible gesture with one finger, and the colonel, along with everyone else, remained silent.

Buffy caught the signal, but couldn't figure out what was going on. His revelation had caught her by surprise, and considerably dampened her fury, but she didn't see where he was going with it. What he had told her didn't change anything. "I'll let you in on a secret of my own, General. I don't give a _damn_ about your war. Seriously. The Goold haven't done _anything_ to me. _They_ didn't torture me. _They_ didn't break my legs, or drown me, or drug me or try to fry my brain with electric shocks. _You're_ the assholes who did all that! I know, from my dreams, that the Goold are as bad as you say. I know they most definitely _aren't_ my friends. But guess what? _I don't give a shit_! Right now, if they are the ones who can knock you arrogant bastards on your self-righteous asses, then they are more than welcome to try. I'll just sit back with some popcorn and watch the fireworks."

O'Neill looked indignant, but the General just smiled. "Then why are you still _here_, Miss Summers?" When she glanced down at her chains he waved them away as irrelevant. "Don't play the fool; I get enough of that from my own people. You did what you set out to do, got the information to us, and tested yourself against Teal'c. You could have left anytime. But you stayed. Why?"

Buffy shrugged. "This is where it will happen. I can be blown away by random bombs anywhere. But this is where I know the Goold will be when it all goes down."

The General smiled, and it was making Buffy nervous. He was an easy man to underestimate, a rolly-polly cuddly bear of a man, but there was a look in his eyes suggesting he was baiting a trap and she was walking right into it. One she still couldn't see. "So you believe this is the place to stop them. This is the place _you_ might stop them. You don't believe in us, but you _do_ care, and you are here because, despite everything, you still think the Goa'uld are worse than we are."

A bit nervously, Buffy sneered. "That's your standard of behavior now? You're happy to be 'not as bad as the Goold?'"

"I can't speak for the NID, Miss Summers, only for my own command. I'd say our behavior has been far better than any you could expect from the Goa'uld. And as I mentioned before, we are at war. Given the capabilities you so expertly demonstrated last night, you are far more than you appear to be. It was entirely possible that you were, in fact, a Goa'uld agent yourself. Under the circumstances, given the precarious state of our own survival, it was reasonable for the government to investigate and contain you as quickly as possible. I'm _not_ saying what they did after they captured you was acceptable! I'm just saying that when your very survival depends on acting quickly, containing threats before they can carry out their missions, the _policy_ itself is not at fault. We call it the 'ticking time bomb' scenario…"

Buffy interrupted him at that point, her normally beautiful face twisted into something bitter and ugly. "I've heard of it. I even _believe_ in it, for those one in a million times when there is an actual ticking time bomb involved. But I would _never_ react to every situation as if my enemy was going to nuke the damned Pentagon if I didn't torture the information out of them. From what I saw, you idiots seem to have a policy to treat every prisoner as guilty of exactly that. Not even 'until proven innocent;' just _guilty_! But guess what, mister? I told them everything they wanted to know the very first day. And even if they still thought I was a Goold, shouldn't they have brought you people in? _You're_ supposed to be the experts! The one time that stupid policy might actually provide useful information; _they don't even tell you about it_! So not only does it not work, it turns a potential ally into an enemy for life. Real smart. Real smart."

Wincing internally, Hammond cursed the NID even more than he normally did. "I understand your position, Miss Summers, I really do. But please just _try_ to see it from our perspective. The terrorists who killed over 4000 people on 9/11 did it because they _hated_ us. Hated us so much they would work with the Goa'uld in order to bring about our destruction. They do not consider, or simply _don't care_ about the consequences of supporting the Goa'uld, so long as it means _our_ destruction. We are having enough problems defending this planet against an overwhelmingly powerful alien opponent. If we also have to worry about _human_ infiltrators the situation rapidly becomes untenable."

He sighed, and squeezed the bridge between his nose before continuing. "Someone had to make the call, and in our system of government that is why we have a President. In the judgment of him and his closest advisors, the results of this policy justified the price we are paying now –and will likely pay for a long time to come—in terms of our 'moral authority.' We are losing the war _right now_, and if we are defeated it is extremely unlikely our opponent will be impressed with our having maintained a superior ethical standard while _losing the war_. Really, it came down to a matter of numbers. They knew people who didn't deserve to be aggressively interrogated –okay, call it by its real name: _tortured_-- would be in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and with limited or no oversight would be treated inappropriately. But the numbers of those who would be mistreated would be a vanishingly small compared to the multitudes who depend on us for their safety.

"Given the _relatively_ limited consequences when compared to the catastrophic results of _not_ acting in time, the decision was made to err on the side of expedience. The people who made this decision were not fools, and did not reach it lightly, or without considerable regret. They _knew_ it would be abused, that mistakes would be made. But given the reality of our war with the Goa'uld, nothing less would have worked. Even knowing what I know now, even after meeting you, I still find myself in essential agreement with the decision."

Buffy glared at him, abruptly changing her mind about his intelligence. "So you are going to stop terrorists by showing them you're just as bad as they say you are! Let me tell you something mister; you sure as hell wouldn't be thinking that way if you were standing in my shoes."

He nodded, meeting her eyes without flinching. "That is true. One thing you learn being in my position is that you can make a judgment call and, on paper, in the bottom line where we tally wins and losses, it's the right call. But that doesn't make it any easier to face the consequences of making the wrong call. The cost in blood, in despair, in innocence shattered. I think of the implications for American soldiers in future combat where our enemies will use our own standards against us, in the ethical legacy we are bequeathing to the next generation. And mostly, for the past few days, I've been thinking about _you_, and what I would be feeling right now if you happened to be one of my granddaughters."

From where they rested on the table, his hands clenched into fists, but his tone didn't change, and he didn't look away from her eyes. "I know all the reasons for reaching the decision we did, for pursuing the course we are on. I even agree in principle for the necessity of doing so. And I do realize my own hypocrisy in saying I can accept it when the consequences fall on someone else, but would never forgive it should me or mine be subject to the same disgraceful actions that fell on you. If someone hurt my granddaughters the way you were hurt, Miss Summers, I would not be responsible for my actions. To avenge such a betrayal of everything I believe in, I would bring down the wrath of my worst enemies upon those who would do such a thing. I would betray everything, kill everyone, regardless of the consequences. I would do such a thing, Miss Summers, because I am not a hero."

He paused for a second, and the room was deathly quiet. "But you are."

* * *

Buffy felt like she had just been punched in the gut. Her mind instantly flashed back to the last time she had been called a 'hero,' by a man who truly merited that title, a man she respected like no one else on Earth. After the battle with Glory, after she was brought back and still in the depths of her depression over being pulled out of heaven, she had gone over that final battle in her own mind. Looking for a project to rescue her from her deep funk, she had considered what should be done about Ben. Obviously Glory hadn't been about to take over his body, since the world still existed, but just to be on the safe side she felt they should re-enable the spells Glory's Hell-God brethren had used to bind her to Ben, to suppress her ability to manifest herself. But as she considered the alternatives, she realized that Giles had already done the same thing, had thought it through, had reached the obvious conclusion. Had done so even before they fought that final battle… and done what had to be done.

She had never discussed it with him. Because there was no spell even a witch as powerful as Willow could have enacted that the bitch-goddess could not have overcome. So there really had only been one solution. And Giles had done it himself, quietly, without fanfare, because she, as the 'hero,' could not.

After that, she had never thought of herself as a 'hero' again.

Hammond wasn't finished. "Even after what they did to you, you are still here trying to help save the rest of us. Despite everything, you still have it in your heart to protect those who are innocent of any wrong doing. I don't have the slightest doubt about what you would like to do with the animals who tortured you, but you have been able to put aside your hatred because billions of people who had nothing to do with what happened to you might die if you don't do everything you can to prevent the disaster you can foresee. _That_, Miss Summers, takes a hero. So if you tell me that Xerxes is fatally compromised, then I _believe_ you. I believe you because the price you were willing to pay to get the information to us was so high. Nobody who demonstrated the tactical skills you showed us yesterday could fail to realize the likelihood that you might fail, be captured, and returned to the people who tortured you. People who do not in any way deserve or merit the risks you have taken to save them. But you did it anyway.

"So this leaves us with a problem. _I_ believe you… but nobody else will. There is no way on God's green earth they will let me take down Xerxes just on your unsupported word. Because they'll see what happened to you and will believe that you are reacting the way _they_ would react, the way _I_ would react. They will believe you are making this story up as a way to get your revenge, to _destroy_ lives instead of saving them. They won't think like a hero because they most emphatically are _not_ heroes! So I need something more, something to convince people who will not look beneath the surface, who need facts they can touch and see and measure. I _need_ that, Miss Summers, or everything you have done will have been in vain."

Buffy didn't know what to say. Everyone was still looking at her, but the way they were _seeing_ her was different than it had been only a few minutes earlier. They were seeing someone else, someone brought to life by the General's words, by their faith in his judgment. Buffy desperately wanted to be the person they were seeing, but she was no more a 'hero' than she was the deluded nutcase in shackles they had been seeing until then. "I wish I could give you something more. But that's all I've got."

Frowning, Hammond looked at the other people around the table, before returning his attention to the girl. "You can't, say, call up another dream?"

Shaking her head, Buffy tried to explain. "There's only one dream. Always the same. Some aspects are more emphasized some nights, but there are no new details. Not since it started."

"But you say that you have experienced these sort of 'prophetic dreams' before, and they always have enough information for you to be able to change the outcome."

"Actually, sometimes I _couldn't_ change the outcome. But even then, knowing what is coming can give you a chance to plan ahead, to prepare for the way things turn out even if you can't change it."

The General shook his head, scowling thunderously. "_No_! That is not acceptable. If you are right then we are facing a full-scale Goa'uld invasion of this planet. The end of civilization as we know it. That is _not_ something I am willing to accept. I have no interest in _reacting_ to the nuclear destruction of my world, to the deaths of uncounted people who are trusting in me to protect them! We are going to _prevent_ this from happening, Miss Summers! Nothing else is acceptable." He looked up at the guard, still silently standing behind Buffy, still in full riot gear. "You can remove the restraints, Sergeant."

He seemed dumfounded by the request. "Sir!"

"Her chains. Remove them. Now. If she didn't _want_ to be here, she wouldn't _be_ here. We have a lot of work to do, and we may as well be comfortable while we do it."


	13. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

**Far Beyond Normal**

**Chapter Twelve**

The questioning went on for hours. The two men in the room she didn't remember from her dreams turned out to be the SGC version of interrogators, and they were light years better at it than their NID counterparts. Instead of beating people until they got the answers they wanted to hear, they went over everything that was said, line by line, in seemingly random order, searching for discrepancies, uncovering additional details Buffy didn't even know she knew. It seemed repetitive and pointless to someone as impatient as the Slayer, but the results were impressive. There was no question in her mind that if she had been lying about a single aspect of her story they would have uncovered it, if she had been concealing anything they would have known it. Without torture, without threats, they got more information out of her in three hours than the NID had in three weeks.

By the end of the session Buffy was getting tired and frustrated, something the interrogators knew full well and used to good effect. The problem was their methods only worked up to the limits of her knowledge, as unlike with torture, she did not make up stuff just to get them to stop hurting her. Torturing people got _more_ results, but not _better_ results, since a lot of it was bogus crap the victim made up on the spot. Simply by verifying what she knew, and what she did not know, gave them more accurate information, but left everyone frustratingly aware of how little they knew, and how much they _needed_ to know.

Finally the General called a break, as even the infinitely patient interrogators realized they weren't adding anything new to the long, detailed notes they had been taking throughout the questioning process. He called in a female enlisted person to take Buffy to a washroom, where she could shower if she wished while they found some clothes for her. More than happy to accept the offer, Buffy also realized they wanted to talk over the results without her in the room, so took her time, not having had an opportunity to wash up after the fun times the previous night. In fact, she wasn't even certain how much time had passed since she had been awakened by their assault on her temporary encampment, but figured it hadn't been much more than eight or nine hours. A lot had happened since then.

The replacement clothing they provided was military issue, casual green camouflage BDU's without insignia, and as she had once told Riley, they did make her look Private Benjamin-ish. But they were clean, and she was clean, and wasn't wearing restraints or being guarded by large, competent MP's, so Buffy was in a pretty good mood for the first time in far too long when the girl who had escorted her to the showers guided her back to the meeting room. They had obviously been warned about her return because when she entered, all discussion had ceased.

She wasn't surprised when the General spoke, or that he did not bring up the results of the internal discussions she hadn't been allowed to participate in. "It would seem we are unable to proceed at the moment, given the limits on the information provided during your prescient dream. We also have some additional hints to go on based on your recollections of the people involved, the equipment in the rooms, the tactics of both ourselves and the Goa'uld that you witnessed. We will need some time to process this information to see if we can uncover any more specific details on the failures with the Xerxes system.

"As you represent our only source of intelligence on this potential catastrophic failure, on my own authority I am temporarily confining you to our facilities here at the SGC. By confining you here, I will be complying with our regulations regarding individuals who are wanted by civilian authorities. _Barely_ in compliance; I would appreciate it if you didn't just leave and make me have to justify that decision to people who will undoubtedly be _very_ upset with me unless I am able to demonstrate that it was necessary so we could, well, save the Earth. You will also be restricted to the 'civilian-access' locations within the facility. Don't go near the 'Gate room, mainframe or power facilities, or the weapons locker. Other than that you are free to move about. Just be available should we have any additional questions.

"I think that will be all for now." He looked around the table. "You are all dismissed." The others stood up from their chairs as the General rose, a military gesture of respect Buffy didn't follow. "It's been a long night. Personally I intend to visit the cafeteria and have something to eat. Unless you have something else you need to be doing, you are welcome to join me. This includes you, Miss Summers."

Her fate having been decided, and it sucking much less than the alternative, Buffy was happy to join them, her appetite restored by the knowledge that she wouldn't have to make a suicidal last stand rather than face a return to NID custody. Along the way to the mess hall the General pointed out various areas of the base, letting her know what went on in some of the labs, showing her a few of the alien artifacts they had retrieved from different worlds and were currently studying. Even to her it was interesting, and Buffy wondered how a science geek like Willow would respond in such an environment. Which was a subject she wanted to bring up with the General eventually, but not until she was certain it wouldn't cause trouble for her friend.

Once they reached the cafeteria she grabbed enough high-carb food to feed a small town, and sat down beside Carter. Pausing only a moment to beg forgiveness to the Almighty Celestial Cow for not being a vegetarian, Buffy scarfed down the burger in three quick bites, and then proceeded to hoover down the four others on her plate, oblivious to the amazed stares of her dinner companions. When she paused for breath, and dessert, she saw their looks and shrugged. "Slayer metabolism. Needs a lot of fuel to stoke the furnace. And I haven't been eating well lately. You gonna eat that pie?" When O'Neill didn't claim it fast enough Buffy reached over and grabbed it off his tray, ignoring his indignant look. Served him right for stealing the last piece of strawberry-rhubarb when it was one of her favorites.

Conversation flew fast and furious despite Buffy continually stuffing her face, and they attracted quite a bit of attention from the other people in the cafeteria. It wasn't often they saw a woman so small eat so much. Since she was now wearing military garb, and few of them had been involved in her capture the previous evening, there was considerable speculation as to her identity. She was surprised at the number of people present. Although part of the reason for the crowd was that it turned out to be lunchtime, she hasn't realized the SGC had so many personnel. Her vision had only involved a few of them, and given how long they had maintained their secret she would have expected their numbers to be more limited.

Her comment on it brought up discussions regarding the SGC, its history and mandate. Finally, one of the things which had been bothering Buffy finally entered the conversation as Carter told of her experiences when she was taken over by a Tok'ra named Jolinar, how he had been tortured by Sokar, and how Bynarr had wanted to torture her in retaliation for Jolinar having betrayed him. Carter had been trying to use the memory to let Buffy know that she understood and had some personal experience with torture, so could empathize with her over the issue, but to her surprise the small girl seemed disappointed with the revelation. "So that's why you give off a Goold vibe. You used to actually _be_ one of them."

Reading between the lines, Carter smiled at her, understanding why the younger woman was disappointed. "Is that why you sat down beside me? You were thinking that _I_ was a Goa'uld agent?"

With a bit of a self-deprecating scowl, Buffy nodded. "There goes my stunning revelation. It made sense too; you couldn't figure out how to fix the thing because you broke it in the first place. But you'd have had to be a _really_ good actress to freak out the way you were if you knew what was happening, so I wasn't really convinced the theory was right even when I thought of it."

Smiling, Carter held up her hands in an 'I'm innocent' gesture. "It's pretty interesting that you can sense the naquadah trace elements in my system. Some Goa'uld can, but very few can detect it at the low level I have. Why didn't you mention it before?"

Disappointed that she hadn't actually solved the problem, Buffy nodded at a man sitting at the table in front of them. "I didn't realize it until now. I knew I could 'feel' that Teal'c was different, the same way I could sense vampires back home, but the 'taste', the vibe I sensed from you was so different from what I got from him that I didn't realize it was related to the Goold until that guy sat down and triggered the same feeling."

Everyone frowned, and turned to look at the man sitting at the opposite table, eating his lunch. He was an older man, mid fifties perhaps, in civilian clothes, talking with a few other men dressed similarly. Buffy noticed the way her companions reacted to her comment, and wondered if she had stumbled onto something after all.

Turning to face the portly General, Carter kept her voice low. "Dr. McGregor has never been Offworld. He went through all of our standard tests for Goa'uld infestation and passed with flying colors. He's also the lead software architect for the Xerxes power regulation subsystem. He has nothing to do with the Avenger interface or aiming systems, but he does have administrative access to the software development libraries."

O'Neill wasn't observing the man, being on the wrong side of the table and not wanting to turn around to indicate his interest. "Could he do what she says happened to the system?"

"I told you; _nobody_ can do what she says was done to the system. Every line of code he enters is tested by independent auditors. He _can't_ manipulate the software like she says someone did, and our tests clearly indicate that he isn't a Goa'uld."

Overhearing, as he was intended to, Hammond glanced over at the man without moving his head, just his eyes, then glanced back to where Buffy was calmly eating her fourth slice of pie. "So either Buffy is trying to spread FUD within our project staff…."

Carter continued the train of thought. "… or our detection techniques need to be updated, both on the software testing side, and the Goa'uld infiltration possibilities if they can somehow mask the naquadah traces."

She was frowning, deep in thought, when the man under discussion looked over and noticed her expression. He raised his eyebrow questioningly, then frowned when Carter overcompensated and tried to make her face a blank mask. It took him only a few seconds to consider the implications, assess his options, and reach a conclusion. Without warning, without giving the slightest indication of his intentions, he suddenly threw his knife with homicidal accuracy directly at Carter.

There was no time for her to react. No time to even be surprised by his actions, no time to move out of the way. Nothing human could have reacted fast enough to escape the sudden, unexpected attack.

Nothing human. But a Slayer wasn't entirely human.

Moving even faster than the intended assassin, Buffy raised the hand holding her fork without ever taking her eyes from her study of the potential threat, wrist not shifting even a fraction of an inch as the sharp blade of the knife slid between the tines, the point of the blade stopping a few inches in front of Carter's left eye as the guard of the knife was blocked by the metal fork held rock-steady with Slayer strength. There wasn't even much noise, just a muffled '_ding'_ that captured the attention of only a few people who until then hadn't noticed the life-or-death struggle happening in their midst. It was so sudden, so unexpected, for a few seconds no one reacted, while the man, who had jumped up as soon as he let go of the knife in preparation for running away, actually got part way towards the exit door before O'Neill recovered and screamed for someone to stop him. The cafeteria was filled with trained soldiers, who reacted almost instantly, tackling the man and subduing him within seconds, not understanding why but responding instinctively to the order.

It had all happened so fast nobody at the table had the time to process it all, to realize how quickly the crisis had come and gone. Casually lowering her hand to remove the knife stuck in her fork, Buffy muttered: "Well, that was anti-climactic. Usually it takes a while to figure these things out."

Stunned at how close she had come to being killed, it took even someone with Carter's training and experience a few seconds to get herself under control, adrenaline flooding her system and causing her to shake long after the danger had passed. But unlike Buffy, Carter's best weapon was her magnificent brain, and it was already considering the consequences of what had just happened. Turning to the general as O'Neill jumped to his feet to take charge of the prisoner, she tried to get control of herself, to suppress the reaction already setting in, and explain the repercussions. "Sir, McGregor had a very high security clearance. He had access to Xerxes. I think we have no choice but to officially consider the entire system compromised."

Hammond was already nodding, and reaching for a phone. "I concur."

Before he could call his superiors, Carter continued. "The problem is that _verifying_ Buffy's story doesn't change anything, sir! The backup systems still have the same weaknesses we needed Xerxes to address. If the Goa'uld are coming for us like she says, and we have as little time as she says, they'll be able to take us whether Xerxes is compromised or not!"

Buffy felt her stomach clench with the realization that instead of the problem being averted, it had just changed a bit, the outcome still the same. "Can't you just go over the stuff he did, rip it out or whatever, and get it back online?"

Already shaking her head, Carter explained to Buffy, but intended her answer more for the General. "We have no idea how he did it, Buffy. If it was a simple matter of going through his code, he would never have been able to do it in the first place. We've got to figure out what he did, then how he did it, then how to fix it. Then we're going to have to test it and verify that the fix works before allowing it back into the operational system. We're talking weeks, if not months, maybe even more if he had accomplices. Because we also have to face the fact that if one of their agents could penetrate our security, others might have as well."

Eyes wide as she began to realize how serious the problem was, Buffy started to say something, then clamped her mouth shut when she understood that Carter wasn't asking her for advice. One of the reasons the First had wiped the floor with her was because she had deluded herself into believing that her innate talents as a Slayer included strategic insight. It was true that she did have some special talents at thinking tactically, but even those were more often than not the result of hard lessons learned through experience. When it came to fighting off a room full of monsters she was the expert; in the situation they faced, just about everyone at the table knew more about what needed to be done than her. Telling herself it was time to shut up and try learning something, Buffy waited for someone else to respond.

Not surprisingly it was Hammond, and he was watching her with a bit of an approving look, as if he had followed her train of thought. "One thing at a time, Major. At least we _know_ the weaknesses within the old system, which is more than we can now say about Xerxes. First things first: pull the plug on Xerxes and notify NORAD that we are returning extra-planetary defense to their control. Second: we have Dr. Fraser go over our captive with a fine-toothed comb and find out how he was able to bypass our Goa'uld detection screenings. Third: we find out if he had any partners. Until Dr. Fraser gets her answers we are dependent on you, Buffy. If you can somehow 'sense' these people I want you to go through this entire facility and let us know if anyone else is like Dr. McGregor. Forget what I said about being limited to the civilian areas of the base. I'll have your passkey upgraded for unlimited access immediately.

"What we do after that depends on what Buffy dreams tonight. With Xerxes offline, her previous visions no longer apply. If the Goa'uld realize they can no longer count on exploiting the back-door they were able to place in Xerxes they might not be willing to carry through with their attack. Personally, I doubt if they will back off, and even if Buffy dreams they will do so we cannot make our plans based on that assumption. But it would be nice to have some idea as to their intentions. And right now, you provide the best information we are likely to get. I will be informing the President that I require the State Security warrant for your arrest be rescinded for reasons of National Security. Your prophetic dreams have been proven demonstrably accurate. You have just become a National Security Asset. Congratulations. You have just been drafted by the SGC."

He smiled, holding out his hand to be shaken, but dropped it when he saw the young woman scowl. "Is there a problem, Miss Summers? Considering the alternative, I think this is about as good an outcome as you could expect."

Buffy nodded, knowing he was right, but also knowing that she had to live with herself afterwards. She had come to the SGC to _warn_ them, to hopefully let them do their jobs of defending the planet, not to _join_ them. She hadn't enjoyed her previous experience as part of a military unit. The way they did things didn't suit her temperament or attitude. And on some things she would not compromise. "What's going to happen to him?" She nodded to the scrum in the center of the room where O'Neill was directing the soldiers trussing up the Goa'uld agent in 'suicide prevention' restraints.

Hammond frowned, not understanding her concern. "He is an enemy spy caught infiltrating the SGC. He will be interrogated and imprisoned. He will be tried as an agent of a foreign power and could face execution. Surely you don't have a problem with that?"

"I don't have a problem with due process. I have a real, deep, personal problem when it comes to the subject of _torture_. If you want to shoot him as a spy, that's your business. But if you, _or anyone else_, tortures him, it becomes _my_ business. I will not work with, cooperate with, or assist torturers. Period. No discussion, no debate, no appeal. If you torture him, or hand him over to the NID to be tortured, even if you do that rendition thing and send him to Syria to be tortured, then you can go to hell. Some things are just plain _wrong_. I won't be a party to it. Not even the hypocritical way you do it, by outsourcing it and then pretending your hands somehow stay clean."

Keeping a grip on his temper, Hammond glanced over at Carter, both silently communicating their relief that O'Neill wasn't around to participate in this discussion. "I did not say he _would_ be tortured…"

Buffy interrupted, proving by that alone she wasn't suitable for a military career even before her words confirmed it. "You didn't say he _wouldn't_ be either. I'm saying I won't be part of any group that practices torture. Even at second or third hand. I warned you about the weakness in Xerxes because a billion innocent people would die if you didn't know. A billion innocent people _won't_ die if I don't tell you there is another spy, or more details on a vision you just admitted will only provide 'additional insight' but won't have any impact on your preparations for an invasion. I've gone from being 'critical' to being just 'useful,' which means I've fulfilled my part of the bargain and no longer have to be a party to something I find personally offensive."

Sighing, Hammond wondered how he had gotten himself into this mess. Thinking, but not saying "California girls!" in an internal sigh of mental frustration, he tried to stop this before it went any further. "Unfortunately, the world is not a black-and-white place. Compromises must to be made. It's one thing to take a moral stand, but how many people will you let die in order to maintain your moral superiority over those of us who have to do what is needed if _anyone_ is going to survive, Miss Summers?"

It was a comment she would have expected from O'Neill, not Hammond, and Buffy sneered at what she saw as the dubious logic. "Don't put the blame on _me_ for refusing to compromise with _torturers_, General! I'm getting pretty irritated that you expect _me_ to do all of the compromising. Especially on a subject like this. One of the hallmarks of this country has been its moral standing, the way everyone was at least willing to listen to us because we did have a certain moral authority, like the way even an agnostic will listen to a priest even if they don't hold the same beliefs. You guys threw it all away, and for what? What is it you have learned that justified the price you paid to learn it? What is it you'll learn from him that justifies losing my cooperation to get it? No deal, General. I'll compromise when it's worth it. When it's _necessary_. This is neither."

Hammond was getting a bit concerned her words might be getting through to the other people still at the table. You could never tell with Teal'c, but the Jaffa was a proud warrior, and the SGC had gone to considerable effort not to put him in any situation where he would be forced to compromise his honor. He was loyal to Earth, but there were limits to that loyalty. If Buffy refused to cross an ethical line, it was entirely possible Teal'c would stand with her, especially over an issue so subject to 'compromise' as torture. Losing Buffy over an interrogation which would probably reveal nothing useful would be a shame. Losing _Teal'c_ over it would be a disaster. And from the looks on their faces, he was also running into some serious limits on how far he could push Carter and Jackson, and how much they would let him hide from them in the future.

He chose his words carefully, knowing what sort of minefield he might be in should he say the wrong thing. "We talked about this earlier, Miss Summers. I explained that given the catastrophic consequences of not acting in time, it was decided that the comparatively limited costs of over-reacting justified the…"

Once again she interrupted, not something a two star general normally experienced, and not something he enjoyed. But it was obvious she didn't care whether he liked it or not. "This is where the 'cost' part comes in. The price of people refusing to work with you, because you're no better than your enemy. Or at least not better_ enough_, and people who have more ethics than your typical Nazi camp guard figure they'd prefer to work with others whose ethical standard is slightly above that of cretins who won't question orders because they are 'good Germans.'"

Everyone winced at the scorn in her tone, but she wasn't finished. "I won't work with you under these conditions. I won't work with people who practice torture under _any_ circumstances. And I will kill any NID agent I meet on sight, because they have embraced it and have become nothing better than the monsters a Slayer was created to destroy.

"That's the price for compromising on torture, General. I don't want any part of it. And I don't want to be part of any group that _is_ part of it. So, with all due respect, take your job and stick it."

She never rose from her chair, never changed the tone of her voice, but everyone knew she had given her final word on the subject. When she calmly returned to eating her pie they all knew she had just dismissed a major general in the US Air Force, something no uniformed soldier enjoyed. But on this occasion nobody said anything, because none of them were even sure she was wrong. How much had they compromised, and what sort of price had they paid among their allies who had not been as blunt as the small blonde girl, but who felt the same way? Knowing that nothing he could say would make her change her mind, the general stood, politely excused himself, and left the cafeteria.


	14. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

**Far Beyond Normal**

**Chapter Thirteen**

Once the General left, there was apparently some private discussion as to what they should do with Buffy, given that she had just derailed all their plans. The girl in question didn't bother to participate, since she was still hoping that everything would work out in the end. She was finding that it was a whole lot easier to make a stand on principle when you were fairly certain they would agree to her terms, so she wouldn't have to face the consequences of not agreeing to theirs. O'Neill tried to come across as a real hard-ass, but she figured chances were pretty good he'd have kept his word to not return her to the NID even if she hadn't saved Carter's life. With that non-trivial favor in her back pocket, she would have to do something rather spectacularly stupid for them not to be willing to bend the rules pretty far on her behalf. And her demands weren't dumb enough to cross that particular line.

Eventually Teal'c escorted her around the base to see if she sniffed out any more covert Goa'uld, but neither were surprised when she didn't. Afterwards, Buffy asked for a room where she could lie down for a quick nap before dinner. He appeared just the slightest bit relieved to realize he wouldn't have to forbid her from leaving the premises. But she wanted to know if there would be another dream as much as they did, so just laid down in the bunk and tried to sleep. She wasn't really surprised when sleep didn't come, however. Still a bit 'juiced' from the events of the day she was still wide awake, and had things been different would have gone out for a patrol to burn off the excess energy. With that option not available, she had no option but to lay down and think.

Thinking was not something she enjoyed. Not because she was stupid, but in many ways the opposite: because she wasn't. After so long as a Slayer she knew her strengths: she was brilliant at improvisation, at reacting once battle had been joined. Given even the most generic, broadest outline of a plan, she could wing it to a successful conclusion. She'd brought down the Master, the Judge, Angelus, and Adam mostly by listening to her friends and then working with the broad outline of a strategy they came up with. Usually it was the Scoobies who came up with plans in a kind of communal effort, with Buffy having the final say if there were any options. It had been a productive, successful way of dealing with their various opponents… until they faced the First. With the First they had tossed aside all of the methods and techniques which had made them such a formidable team. The reason they had failed was not something Buffy wanted to think about. Because it had been her own fault.

She had failed in dealing with the First because she had cut herself off from utilizing the extraordinary resource her friends represented, paranoia and delusion and outright stupidity making her feel she could no longer trust them. Guilt over allowing Caleb to take Xander's eye, distrusting Willow's issues with power and magic, frustration with Dawn's desperate need for some kind of emotional stability, all had combined with her own self-imposed isolation, her own fear that she would have to sacrifice her friends to defeat their overwhelmingly powerful opponent, left her ripe for the sort of mental manipulations which were the First's weapon of choice. It was something she tried not to think about, had been running away from ever since being reborn in this world. In many ways she had been using the impending crisis with the imminent alien invasion as a distraction, something requiring all of her attention so personal issues could be put aside. But with the SGC now believing her warnings, she no longer had that excuse. And lying alone, in a darkened room deep within Cheyenne Mountain, she could no longer ignore it.

She hadn't wanted to talk to the Scoobies because talking about it would be too painful. Her friends had let her get away with it because they understood that the distraction could prove fatal, not just to her but to the entire world. So she hadn't talked about her abandonment issues after her father left, hadn't talked about the overwhelming burden of caring for Dawn, hadn't talked about her absolute burning _hatred_ of her so-called 'friends' for bringing her back to a hellish existence when she was finally at peace… or her self-disgust at hating them for doing what they thought was not just necessary but _right_. Because she had felt that way she had turned to Spike and begun a sadistic, masochistic, abusive relationship which made her feel even guiltier and more disgusted with herself, making it that much harder to bring up the issue with even those people she was closest to.

Perhaps things might have improved had Tara lived. Buffy hadn't been close enough to Willow's girlfriend to feel the extreme reluctance to bring up the issue as she had been with Willow herself. There was a gentle decency to the young witch that made people feel comfortable talking to her, even people as emotionally distant as Buffy had become. But when Tara had been killed even that outlet had been cut off, and Willow's reaction and subsequent personal issues had ensured that the person who had once been her closest friend was no longer an option when it came to discussions of such a deeply personal nature. As she became more and more emotionally isolated Buffy had become harder, more distant from even those closest to her, until she had become unable –or willing—to listen when she most needed competent advice.

The First had exploited that weakness to the fullest. Buffy wasn't sure how much of what had happened had been the results of the First's manipulations, and how much it had just taken advantage of issues already present. Which brought her to the subject she most didn't want to think about. She wanted to be able to tell herself that her bafflingly ridiculous plans for attacking the winery were due to being manipulated by the First… and was not her own subconscious attempt to sacrifice everyone she cared about in some bizarrely twisted way so they would no longer be a 'burden' to her. The thought that she might have been deliberately leading the potentials, her friends, and the sister she genuinely adored to their deaths, simply so that what she thought was inevitable would finally be over, was eating her up inside. Even back in Sunnydale she had been unable to face Xander in his hospital bed, his face swathed in bandages due to the missing eye, when she had begun to suspect that she might have actually been trying to bring it about.

Looking back, she was grateful they had ordered her to leave her house when she insisted on going back to the winery, with no new plan, no better reason than the subconscious 'feeling' even she didn't trust. At the time she had been pretty upset, and still was in some ways, but looking back she wasn't sure if they could have done anything else. She had demanded unconditional obedience and they had rejected it. As she would have rejected it in their place, because what she was demanding was insane. But at the time it had further isolated her, made her even more reluctant to allow anyone to talk to her, to share with her… except Spike.

Which opened another giant cavern of unasked questions, of issues not dealt with. Her relationship with Spike had been twisted, the sort of thing she would once have looked upon with disgust. But there had been something else there, something beneath the violence and sick games. When nobody else had been able to reach her, Spike had gotten a reaction. Not the one she wanted, probably not even the one _he_ wanted, but at least it was _something_, an indication she wasn't completely dead inside. She had been the one using him, not the other way around, so blaming him for the nature of their relationship wasn't just unfair, it was another attempt at self-delusion. Because however twisted it had been, it had at least provoked an emotional response, and provided an outlet for what she could now see had been a death-wish.

She had no idea what would have happened to them had both she and Spike survived. Her last memory of the other world had been Spike dying, self-immolating from the power being unleashed by the amulet, slaughtering Torak-han by the thousands. Spike had always wanted to be a hero… well, or a villain, or at least someone who provoked a response. He didn't want to be the bookish wallflower no one noticed, who wouldn't be remembered after he was gone. Buffy doubted that _anyone_ would ever forget Spike. That _she_ would ever forget Spike. Even now she didn't know what she felt for him –love or hate, disgust or passion—but she knew there was _something_, a mourning she hadn't permitted herself. Because mourning Spike would open her up to all the other issues which surrounded his death.

So much in her life had changed since she was an innocent 15 year old, before she was Called. Too many of those changes were now integrated into the person who was now Buffy Summers, personality traits adopted because survival depended on it. Even if she had a friend as close to her as Willow had once been she doubted she would be able to open up to her about many of her issues, doubted she was even capable any longer of leaving herself so emotionally vulnerable. Nor was she much interested in talking to a psychiatrist, especially not in _this_ world, where even doctor/patient confidentiality was being sacrificed to their overwhelming need for security. Which left her with no choice but to work out her own issues, to deal with them by herself, to get out of the habit of burying her problems and hoping they would go away. Because in addition to all the old stuff, there were new issues being piled on top of her already-overwhelmed psyche; her rage over the way she had been treated by the NID, how she should deal with her parents, when or even if she should try to get in touch with the local versions of Xander and Giles, even her nervous curiosity when thinking about what would happen the next time she saw Faith. She had so many outstanding issues needing to be addressed, but needed time to figure out what she was going to do. What she _wanted_ to do.

In many ways she was in a very good place to do just that. If she joined the SGC she would be insulated from the outside world, the insular world of the project providing a bit of space from the world at large. She would be given time and opportunity to study, and she had personal reasons now for continuing with her psychology courses. And there would be chances to act as a Slayer, not as originally intended perhaps, as there were no supernatural monsters to fight here, but there were most definitely _natural_ ones. Mostly, there would be a chance to pull back, to work _with_ a team, to not feel as if the weight of the world rested solely on her shoulders every time she went out to face the demons of the world. She could tell just from the caliber of the people Hammond surrounded himself with that they could work with her here. Every one of his subordinates was, in their own way, extraordinary. The sort of people who, in other places, at other times, would be leaders, used to running things. Here they would have to subordinate their personal idiosyncrasies to the needs of the group; but the group in turn would have to accommodate the extraordinary individuals and their special needs.

It was the sort of environment Buffy needed. Perhaps not the one she wanted, but a structure she needed to get her head together. Because the alternatives blew serious chunk-age. Even she could see that she was, emotionally speaking, a ticking time bomb. The alien invasion had provided a useful distraction, something to concentrate on rather than face how close she was to going completely postal. If the government didn't accept her demands, she would ask O'Neill to send her to some god-forsaken hell-world out in the depths of space where she could go out as a Slayer should, fighting the forces of darkness to her dying breath. But if they refused, if they tried to send her back to the custody of NID, she calmly and adamantly promised herself that she would find a way to escape, to find a way to hunt down those behind the secret organization… and kill every single one of them.

With that, and to her considerable surprise, she fell into a deep, restful sleep.

* * *

There must have been a camera in the room because they let her sleep. Or perhaps they were just being polite, and didn't disturb her. Either way, when she awoke she was surprised to see that more than two hours had passed. By recent standards that was a long, restful sleep. Even so it had been interrupted by a Slayer Dream. As Carter had predicted, the Goold were still coming. And the planet was still about to face nuclear fire.

When she got up and opened the door she almost tripped over an open box left there, containing a change of clothing. A blue jumpsuit, this one in her size, she was happy to see. The running shoes were an improvement on her oversized combat boots, but she had always preferred something with a heel, to provide that extra couple of inches of height God had somehow neglected to give her. None the less she changed quickly, appreciating the fact that she no longer looked like a kid wearing someone else's army getup as a Halloween costume. She made certain to put on the temporary id card she had been given before walking to the elevator, casually nodding to a few people in passing as she went down to the level where Hammond's offices were located.

The secretary seemed to have been expecting her, perhaps not surprising given the number of cameras in the facility and how seriously they took their security. She took a seat as requested, scowling at the lame selection of magazines left in the reception area for visitors. If she was interested in taking down various wild animals with a hunting bow she could have spent hours in fascinated research on the subject given that there were no less than six different magazines dedicated to the subject. She wasn't, and didn't. Not a copy of Vogue in sight either. Bloody military… She blinked, realizing that thought sounded a bit too British, and wondered what her subconscious was telling her about Giles.

The reason she had been asked to wait was soon apparent as Carter and Teal'c arrived minutes later, quickly followed by two more officers, one she recognized from the morning's interrogation, the other a stranger. They were all invited to enter the same meeting room she had been in earlier, where the General and O'Neill were already seated with yet another officer. The secretary quietly and unobtrusively brought in a coffee urn and cups before making his exit, and those who imbibed poured a cup before taking their seats. Introductions were not offered before Hammond looked to Buffy. "Did you have another dream?"

She nodded. "Yeah. It was different this time though." It didn't take long to go over it, but what little information she provided was enough to make the newcomers scowl.

One of them muttered "They know about the blind spot in the targeting laser if they come in that way…" Buffy just shrugged, having no idea what he meant.

Carter did, however. "I'm not surprised. It was worth a shot, but tomorrow we'll shift over to the approach radar on the moon and see how that changes the situation." She smiled at Buffy. "This is a strange way to game out our battle plan, adjusting our strategy and waiting for you to have a prophetic dream about how the change works out once the Goa'uld arrive, but it's certainly better than nothing."

One of the newcomers, the one who had earlier muttered, spoke up. "McGregor didn't know about blind spot on the laser system. I'm not even sure if he could have learned of it, given his restricted security clearance. Not a good sign."

O'Neill scowled. "That's just wonderful. We've got another spy."

The newcomer qualified his remark. "We _might_ have another spy. That's why we're establishing our combat doctrine the way were are. So long as Miss Summers…" he nodded politely towards Buffy "…can provide us accurate intelligence as to how the Goa'uld will adjust their tactics based on our evolving doctrine, we should soon find out how much they know. And hopefully determine who might have told them of it."

The other newcomer wasn't quite so happy. "If we have enough time. From what I understand this is sort of a once-a-day vision thing, right?" Buffy nodded, having already told them that she would not get another prophetic dream if she cat-napped during the day. "I agree that it's better than nothing, but if she was right about this then we have to realize that she's probably right about the time frame as well. Meaning we are running real short on time before we have to be ready for this to go down."

The General nodded. "Ninety percent of our strategic architecture is fixed. We only have certain missiles, only have certain weapons which can be used against an invasion as powerful as the one Miss Summers foresees. Given the limitations on our resources, all we can do is tweak some of the targeting systems, adjust some defensive patterns which might hopefully confuse their systems. Without Xerxes to provide a long-range punch, our options are extremely limited. It will be a brutal close-range slugging match no matter what we do. Very little of what information Buffy can provide us at this point will affect the assignments of our front line troops. However, it will provide us with critical extra intelligence on their response to our initial, most long-ranged salvo."

He glanced around the table once before returning his attention to Buffy. "If we can do any damage to the enemy at all with our initial salvo it will provide a substantial increase in our likelihood of being able to survive the attack. Under the circumstances we're not going to hold back anything. The President has already authorized us to deploy everything in the arsenal. So any clues you provide will not impact the deployment orders of most soldiers in the field, but will have immense implications as to whether they might survive. Given that, the President has agreed to your terms. Dr. McGregor will be interrogated 'in house,' by our own team. Every interrogation performed by or on behalf of SGC personnel will comply with every commitment this country has made and be bound by our treaties specifying the conditions which we believe constitute torture."

There was some murmuring from around the table at that information, and more than a few raised eyebrows. But the General wasn't finished. From the look on his face, he was extremely pleased with himself. "The President also agreed to your _other_ demand, Miss Summers. There was considerable… discussion on the matter, considering your threat to murder NID personnel. It wasn't until I indicated we have an unedited copy of their interrogation report that State Security admitted you might have some reason to be… resentful. After further discussion, the President agreed it wasn't unreasonable that you might have some problems working with them. So, he has ordered that no NID personnel will be permitted to set foot on the SGC site."

That got quite a reaction from the others at the table, but Buffy frowned, knowing what he was doing, but not knowing what she should do about it. "I believe what I said was that I would kill them on sight."

The General just smiled thinly. "I must have misunderstood. I was certain you said you would kill any you caught on this site." Butter wouldn't have melted in his mouth, he was so smooth. "Either way, Miss Summers, you have made your point. Probably better than you realize. There are limits to my power, but this is as close as I can come to setting a standard as far as my reach extends. I can't change the world, or the decisions of the government. But within the bounds of the SGC, both on Earth and on every planet we travel to, torture will be forbidden. You have my word on that. I hope that is acceptable to you, because it is all I can do."

He looked at her hopefully, and when she looked around the table she could see similar expressions on some faces, encouraging smiles from both Jackson and Teal'c. She knew the colonel would be thrilled with the promise of NID goons being banished from the facility. The problem was that it _was_ a compromise. The SGC, despite its importance, was a very tiny portion of the U.S. government, and not exactly the source for a lot of torture. But as he said, it made a point, made it loud and clear, and set an example. Under the circumstances, it was as good a deal as she was likely to get. And unless she wanted to be General Field Marshall Admiral Buffy, whose word was law, she would have to learn how to compromise, even when she didn't like it. And, if she was in the right, then maybe setting an example would prove, in the long run, to be even more powerful than imposing a decision. She met Hammond's eyes and nodded.

O'Neill winked at her, not necessarily agreeing with her stand but satisfied with the compromise, and smiles appeared around the table. The General reached behind him and pulled out a thick stack of papers. "Proving that no good deed goes unpunished, naturally we have some paperwork involved in hiring you. Security forms as well. If you don't mind I'll ask you to go out into the office where Airman Brandt can help you fill this out. While you're doing that the rest of us will need to prioritize our schedule for our initial tactical response, now that we know you will be available going forward. Given the critical nature of your work here we will be hiring you as one of the more vital civilian consultants. I hope the compensation package meets with your approval."

He pointed out a line on one page, and Buffy almost choked at all the zeros after the dollars sign.


	15. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

**Far Beyond Normal**

**Chapter Fourteen**

Three days passed, and Buffy was starting to get a bit stir-crazy, not having left the mountain bunker since she was first brought in after her capture. The constant droning of the StarGate as it cycled personnel through to the Alpha site just in case the Earth was conquered was getting on her nerves. They weren't even insisting she stay at the base. Once she woke up and gave them the results of her nightly dream, she really didn't have much to do, and everyone else was too busy considering the implications of her vision to entertain her. They seemed satisfied that the dreams were giving them the information they wanted, finding subtleties in slight changes Buffy herself barely even noticed, but so far as she could tell the outcome was always the same. The planet was still getting nuked. It was creeping her out that nothing they did changed the result.

After three days she decided she needed some fresh air, and informed the General she was going into town to spend some money, now that she had actual pay going into an actual bank account. Hammond smiled, and let her know that she didn't need his permission, but he would appreciate it if she carried a cell phone in case they needed to get in touch with her. Showing that he wasn't as smart as she thought he was, he even let her borrow his car. He didn't even take it back after Buffy admitted that she was good driver… if you considered Mario Andretti to be a good driver. She tended to drive just a bit fast, but she had Slayer reflexes and could easily handle speeds most people would consider insane. Almost every accident she had ever been in had been the other driver's fault. All they needed to do was not panic and everything would have been fine. Although he didn't ask for his keys back, his smile started looking increasingly pained by the time Buffy left the office.

It felt strange to leave the mountain, to realize how much her life had changed in just a few days. She was startled to realize during the short drive down town that she had grown accustomed to the comfort of the jumpsuit-and-running shoes uniform she was still wearing. Although she had originally intended to stock up on clothing, she frowned with the realization that everyone at the SGC wore uniforms of various kinds, even the civilian employees. The most non-standard clothing she saw anyone wearing was jeans, usually worn by scientists on off-world research projects. If she wore anything appropriate to fashion-plate Buffy standards she would stand out from the crowd. That didn't bother her, but it might bother the crowd, even though the SGC version of your standard military-type-person wasn't as rigidly indoctrinated as she had originally feared. Even after a few days in their employ she found they usually had pretty good reasons for most of their rules and regulations, and she didn't want to thumb her nose at them just because she could.

It had astonished her to realize how much they were relying on her. Yeah, she was saving the world. Been there and done that. But all the other times she'd saved the world, 'the world' had been a nebulous thing, an abstraction. It had been her and her friends fighting the Big Bad, fighting to save themselves, and the fact that winning also meant they would save the rest of the world was just an added bonus. But this time she had to meet with the military every day, where the actions of thousands of people would be affected by the most subtle aspects of her vision. Because they were treating it so seriously, Buffy treated it seriously, and in turn found that she treated the people listening to her seriously. Quips and pun-ny comments had been dropped, as everyone was reminded time and again how many lives depended on the decisions they reached.

Perhaps if she was in a better mood she wouldn't have given a damn about their feelings and just continued being her usual smart-assed self. But she was still in a bit of a funk over the realization she had arrived at while resting after her capture. It wasn't like the deep, suicidal depression she had been in after Willow brought her back to life, but neither was she all 'sweetness and light.' Which probably suited her new colleagues just fine. They needed her badly enough that they would have accommodated almost any behavior from her… but they wouldn't have respected her, and she found that she wanted their respect. Because, increasingly, they were earning hers.

They didn't realize her sober, if not cold temperament and behavior was not normal for her. They hadn't seen her behave any other way. But enough comments had been made concerning the actions of others, behavior Buffy thought amusing, for her to understand that they found it to be at best unprofessional, if not a sign of immaturity, to act inappropriately when there was serious work to be done. She realized that they joked among themselves, indulged in not-so-professional behavior when no one else was looking, but all of them seemed to feel there was a time and place for such activity. Buffy was uncomfortably aware that had things been different, she would have been considered an immature brat, a resource to be used, but not someone thought capable of being left unattended with matches.

As she parked and left the vehicle, Buffy was pondering how far she was willing to modify her own behavior to fit in with the group. 'Group dynamics' was another area of psychological behavior she wanted to study, to get the opinion of others in order to help her reach her own conclusions. Given her state of mind it didn't seem likely she was going to be going back to 'happy fluffy puppy' Buffy behavior any time soon, but she didn't want to act a certain way just to 'fit in.' Neither did she want to act contrary to the group norm just to demonstrate her own independence, when all it was likely to do was disrupt the group and have them dismiss her as a child. It wasn't like she was the only person who had ever felt confused about fitting in with a new social grouping. Pretty much everyone who got a new job went through a similar process. It was just another checkpoint on leaving the cocoon of childhood and assuming adult responsibilities.

Entering a clothing store and going over the selection, Buffy passed by a number of items she would once have purchased without a second thought. She still liked them, still would have liked to have been able to wear them, but they didn't fit in, would not have been practical in the sort of environment where she now worked. She scowled at the thought of being 'practical.' In fact she almost bought a particularly beautiful silk blouse simply because she had immediately dismissed it as _im_practical, not something anyone with a lick of sense would wear either within the mountain or off-world. They were paying her big bucks, so why not buy the damned thing just on the off-chance she had reason to wear it some day? Because she suddenly remembered almost losing her house because she didn't have enough money to pay the bills, would have lost it if Giles hadn't come through with some cash at the last minute; yet even knowing her financial situation, she had splurged on expensive clothes she never wore more than once. Looking back, she couldn't believe how foolish she had been. Another harsh lesson in growing up. Blowing your money on luxuries you didn't need wasn't cute, or mature, or very damned smart.

Holding the blouse up in front of herself, and looking at the image in the mirror, Buffy scowled even more at the image she could see of herself walking into the SGC in such clothing. It was fine for a party, or to impress other girls in school, but it would be ludicrous in the SGC. Clothing had always provided her solace, giving her a comfort level others got from their cars or their studies or their achievements. Buffy and her closest friends knew that she had quite literally saved the entire world on more than one occasion, but most people didn't realize it, so clothing had provided a mechanism for her to demonstrate her self-worth, her attractiveness and confidence. But it wouldn't work that way within the SGC. It would be seen differently, judged differently. _She_ would be judged differently.

Reluctantly placing the blouse back on its hanger, Buffy settled for purchasing some more practical clothes, coveralls more tailored to her form, work shoes with just a bit more heel than was standard. When she tried on one of the outfits she finally broke into a genuine smile, liking what she saw. It was possible to stand out even when trying to fit in… if you knew something about cut and style. Feeling much better about herself, Buffy wore her new clothes out of the mall, enjoying the looks she received from men, surreptitious and just-slightly-less-than-blatant looks of approval. Her mood improved on the spot. It was the clothes that did it. With Buffy, it was always the clothes which soothed the savage breast.

It wasn't until she was fitting the key into the General's car that she noticed it. A strange 'scent,' not quite smelled but sensed, felt on a barely conscious level. The tingling sensation wasn't too dissimilar to the way she had once known a vampire was hiding nearby. Fainter though, barely at the threshold of awareness. But she was almost certain she was catching the trace of a Goold. The undetectable kind, like the one who tried to kill Carter. Dropping off her packages, she crossed the street, barely missing being hit as a car swerved around her, ignoring the shouted appraisal of her likely intelligence as she concentrated on locating the source of the trace 'scent' even she could barely detect.

What she was feeling wasn't like her other senses, was more of a vague impression rather than a tangible awareness. As she returned to the car –this time being sure to look both ways before crossing the street—Buffy frowned in concentration, finally deciding that the source was stronger towards the west than to the east. She drove slowly, following the sensation, heading north when it seemed stronger than south. The trace was fading now, to the point where she wouldn't have noticed it had she not been concentrating so hard on finding it. Other drivers were honking their horns at her, annoyed by her slow driving, but Buffy ignored them until she realized she was traveling on the main road leading towards the Air Force Academy.

Security wasn't especially tight at the school, but it was government property and people weren't admitted unless they had either proper credentials or a valid reason for being there. A guard shack stood in the middle of the road, uniformed air force personnel verifying id's. A remote boom arm blocked the road, and could be remotely raised to let cars enter the base. Frowning, Buffy waited her turn, looking around at what could be seen of the campus from her location to determine if she could narrow down the source of the trace, until she was interrupted by a guard. Reaching into her pocket, she brought out the uniquely pink id tag the SGC had provided, which had her picture and almost nothing else except a bar code and a hidden embedded chip. "Will this let me in here?"

The young man frowned at the card and pulled it through the slot in his window, running it through a machine she couldn't see. Evidently the answer was yes however, as he returned the card with a polite smile and the boom arm blocking the road was raised. Buffy drove into the campus, slowing traveling along the neat streets, taking her time to get a sense of what it was she was following, finally distracted about ten minutes after entering the campus when her phone rang. Absently answering, she turned down another side street, coming across some cadets, passing them by when none of them tripped her spider sense. "Hello?"

It was Hammond's secretary, gently reminding her that she was scheduled for a meeting with the interrogators who had been questioning McGregor. The official reason for the meeting was to determine if she could provide any 'insight' into the information they had uncovered during their session. But the real reason was to show that they were using standard, even quite harsh interrogation methods which did not cross over the line into torture. It was just Hammond's way of demonstrating that he was keeping his word. Buffy told the man she wouldn't be able to make it, and when she could hear the amusement in his voice when he asked if she was enjoying her shopping, she casually mentioned that she had been forced to cut the trip short when she sensed another Goold like McGregor. That certainly got the man's attention.

He wanted a lot more information, but Buffy simply told him she was on the Academy campus trying to locate the guy, he was distracting her spider-sense, and she would call back when she had anything new to add.

* * *

Although Buffy was starting to realize how important she was becoming to the SGC, she could not have imagined what sort of an anthill her casual remark would soon kick over. The secretary immediately interrupted a mission briefing session to inform the General. Hammond in turn contacted the Air Force Academy security office and on his authority had them lock down the entire base. He ordered them to dispatch an armed squad to find Buffy. "Inform your team that they are to let her know they are there. But they are not, under any circumstances, to bother her or interfere in any way unless she asks them to."

After that he called the base commander, who outranked him by quite a bit, and informed him of his actions. Fortunately he and General Kerrigan were old friends, and having already been appraised of Buffy's identity and abilities he had no objections to placing virtually his entire command at her disposal. They wasted a few minutes wondering what a Goa'uld infiltrator would be doing at a school, but realized that was a question better left for when they had the spy in custody. Kerrigan soon left to ensure his troops were properly deployed to lock down the academy grounds, while Hammond informed his command team at the SGC that Buffy had located another of the previously undetectable Goa'uld.

* * *

Buffy noticed the Hummvee following her, and at first wondered if she was about to be arrested. When they simply shadowed her, and once even waved away an armed sentry who had suddenly appeared in an intersection, she quickly figured they were there to help so gave them no more thought. All of her concentration was focused on the vague sensation that her quarry was nearby, that she was finally getting a good bead on the vague trail she was following. It led her to one of the larger buildings on campus, one that had classrooms and labs as well as offices for the academic staff. She parked in front of it, ignoring the 'No Parking' signs, and entered the building, paying no attention to her three armed shadows who silently gestured when any of the students in the hall looked like they were thinking about bothering her. Eventually she took the stairs to the lowest level of the building, not a basement, but laboratories off-limits to any but authorized personnel. Once again, her magic pink card got her through the security lock with a simple swipe.

Her spider sense was really starting to tingle. Holding the door open for the three men shadowing her, she noted how serious they were, armed and grimly determined, probably with no clue what was happening but prepared to do whatever was necessary to assist her. She was starting to understand how useful soldiers could be. All three were young, one even younger than her, all were black, big, and moved like they knew what they were doing. Buffy had been around the military long enough to recognize that one was an officer, so nodded to him. "He's here."

He nodded, and spoke into a headset microphone. "Target verified at this location. Evacuate the building. Quietly."

Buffy turned away and started walking down the hallway, not making any particular effort to be silent, not hurrying. She couldn't see Kerrigan's heavily armed troops suddenly rush into the building and begin evacuating students, but knew that was exactly what was happening above them. She wanted to give them time to get the kids out before doing anything, because the Goold had demonstrated a willingness to commit suicide by using rather large bombs when trapped. Plus she wanted to be absolutely certain she was after the right guy and not get someone innocent killed.

After turning down a short corridor at ninety degrees off the main hallway Buffy knew she had found what she was looking for. The door was painted a dull red, made of metal, secured with a card key mechanism. When he saw her expression, the officer quietly whispered that there were armed troops available if she wanted them. Buffy frowned, thinking it over, considering how Hammond would want it handled. "I don't think anyone should come down here if they don't have Top Secret security clearance. We'll have to do this ourselves."

There was no argument. Not even any questions. Buffy was starting to think maybe there was something to be said for working with the military. Someone had obviously told these men to do whatever she said, and that was exactly what they were going to do. The officer passed along her instructions to whomever was on the other end of the radio, and then his eyes went wide when someone apparently far up the chain of command came on to repeat and reinforce the order. Not paying attention to him, Buffy missed his reaction, too busy concentrating on the door and the office beyond. Slayer senses were pretty good, hearing included, and she soon determined the basics of what she needed to know. "There's three people inside. Two men on the left; one on the right. The one I want is on the right. The other two may not be involved in this. They're talking to my boy, asking him about something… gambling or bets of some kind. I think they think he's just running some kind of numbers game. You two…" she pointed to the two enlisted men "…take them. No guns."

The men nodded, not asking how she knew what she was telling them, simply putting away their side-arms and drawing wicked-looking black batons. Turning to face the officer, Buffy studied him a second before continuing. "I'll be on the one we're here for. I think he's armed. I can smell something… oil. We really need him alive. But we absolutely _positively_ need him to not get away. Don't shoot him unless you have no choice." The man nodded, meeting her gaze without flinching, and Buffy decided he wasn't a cowboy who might fire just for the chance to rack up a kill. Whoever had sent the trio to back her up hadn't just drawn names at random. They were nervous, but in a good way… prepared, knowing what they might be in for, ready for it.

Buffy brought up her magic card and swiped it in the key slot. She frowned when the door didn't open. The officer scowled even more. "Your key should open it. That card gives you access to _everything_." While he spoke into his radio Buffy considered the implications of them giving her such access, but soon dismissed it as irrelevant. The officer said there was a manual override they could use, but it would take five minutes to get the door open. Buffy just shook her head.

"They know we're here. They did something to the lock. I can hear them talking about it, discussing what they should do. I think it's time to be not subtle." Moving up to the door, she drew her arm back and drove her fist forward where a latch mechanism should be. There was a loud '_bang_!', and the metal bent about four inches, but the door held. Instead of one latch in the middle, the door had two, one at either end of the left side. Buffy ignored the shocked looks from the soldiers, her own expression showing that she was impressed. "That is one tough door! Get ready." With that she did a quick turn, using her momentum to add to the strength of her leg kick to the center of the door. At full Slayer strength the kick was enough to rip the bolts clear through the steel reinforcing on the other side, smashing the door not just open but right around and into the wall on the other side, reinforced hinges on that side barely holding, the masonry wall cracking.

Not waiting for the door to slam back, Buffy followed it through, moving as fast as she could, ducking and twisting as she ignored everything except her target. He was raising a gun, a standard military issue semi-automatic, and she rolled as he fired, pivoting to kick out and push the desk into him, the angle not quite right to trap him, but enough to hit him just hard enough to distract him and give her time to jump and grab his arm, twist, hearing it snap but not even pausing as she drove her elbow into his face, smashing something else there, knocking him unconscious with the force of the blow. Turning quickly to see how the others were doing she saw the two other men in the room with their hands up, likely saving them from a beating, but not from firm treatment as the soldiers used their hands and batons to get the civilians down on the floor and secure. The whole thing had taken only seconds.

Only then, once it was over, did Buffy hear the moans from the two men on the ground, their pleas as they surrendered, cries that they hadn't done anything, the echoes from the rounds that had been fired still resonating. She did a quick count. Three shots. He had been fast. She had been faster. A check verified that neither she nor any of the soldiers following her had been hit. One round had come close though; she had felt the compression wave as it passed, and had a sudden and terrifying flashback to Warren shooting her in Sunnydale. The officer was looking at her a bit stunned, his dark eyes huge, when he was snapped back to reality by voices in his head piece demanding an update. "Three bad guys down. No casualties. Situation secure."

Ignoring him, Buffy let the unconscious Goold drop and moved over to the desk where he had been sitting. She didn't know what he had been doing, but the numbers flowing by on his computer screen suggested he had known something was happening and was using the time to activate a program to delete his files. Wishing Willow or Carter was around to tell her what to do, Buffy decided that since they weren't, she'd just have to do what Slayers did, and quickly moved over to the rack beside the desk which held a series of big blinking computer-type boxes. Grabbing the steel rack, she braced herself and pulled, ripping it out from the bolts securing it to the floor, but giving her enough room to reach over and start pulling out every cable she could find. Within seconds the lights went off and the computers looked dead.

The enlisted men had the civilians under control, and were staring at her, at the bolts she had just ripped from the floor, at the eight hundred pound computer rack she had just tossed aside like it was nothing, and then at each other, obviously wanting to ask a million questions but asking none of them. Which was fortunate, because there wasn't really a lot she could say. Instead she turned away, returning to the desk and started pulling drawers out, not sure why she was doing it until she reached the bottom one. There was a small black cube under the drawer that set her spider senses into overdrive. It wasn't very big, maybe two by three by perhaps half an inch thick, and at first she thought it might be a bomb. Thin, almost invisible wires leading from it convinced her otherwise. When she touched it she could feel something, not a mechanical vibration but an ultrasonic hum as if a crystal was being compressed. Again Buffy resorted to Slayer tactics, ripping the box from its setting, snapping the tiny cables, eyes squeezed shut in case it was booby trapped.

Fortunately, nothing happened. The cube came off, and the feeling disappeared.

Taking a deep breath, Buffy started to come down from the adrenaline high, the excitement over and giving her time to assess the situation. Frightened murmurs were coming from the two civilians who had been doing something on their computers on the other side of the office, and more to get rid of their annoying distraction than anything else Buffy asked the soldiers to take the men out in the hall and have someone take them away. She could hear voices out in the main hallway, although nobody had entered the short corridor where the office was located. When the enlisted men hauled the terrified civilians to their feet, the officer quietly whispered into his radio that two of the captives were being brought out, and they should be kept apart, kept silent, and kept in a secure location until someone told them differently.

Buffy was checking out the rest of the office when they returned, accompanied by two officers. Pretty high ranking ones from the way the lieutenant snapped to attention. She knew the meaning of the bird symbol on the first man's shoulder because O'Neill had the same one, but even she instantly knew that the four stars on the other guy meant he was someone with serious clout, near the top of the military food chain. He nodded to the lieutenant, who relaxed the merest fraction, and went over to look at the unconscious man on the floor. Blood was starting to pool from his broken nose. The General didn't get too close, not out of fastidiousness, but because he apparently knew what a Goa'uld could do. "Is it dead?"

Not a big Goold fan, Buffy judged. "He'll live. Probably need a nose job though. Arm's broken too. Sorry, but he had a gun."

The General nodded in satisfaction before looking over towards her. "Any idea what the hell it would be doing on my base?"

Buffy shrugged, before pointing towards the computers and holding up the cube she had pulled from the desk. Quickly explaining what she had seen and done, she handed over the cube when the general politely asked to see it. Apparently he had no more idea what it was or did than she did. "I'm having his records brought over." He looked away from the cube, staring at Buffy for a second. "We'll have to call in State Security."

Scowling, Buffy gestured towards the cube. "This thing isn't from Earth. Doesn't that take it out of their jurisdiction?"

The General ignored the sudden indrawn breath from the lieutenant, the wide-eyed shock on the faces of the other soldiers. "This is a _school, _Miss Summers. Cadets could have been hurt. Which means they have jurisdiction. They'll want him taken into custody."

Tense, frustrated, Buffy turned away from him, muttering. "We had a deal."

The General apparently knew all about it. He just shrugged. "Inside the Mountain you have a deal. Out here, State Security calls the shots."

"State Security is going to _get_ shot if they keep pissing me off."

The lieutenant looked at the tiny girl, at the smashed metal door, at the steel rack ripped from its mounts, and wondered what the hell he had gotten himself into. But whatever it was, he wouldn't want to be an agent for State Security who was in the sights of anyone who could do what this chick had done. A girl who talked about things being not from Earth. He would have felt sorry for them if he wasn't secretly hoping she ripped their balls off. Like most soldiers, he didn't have a lot of respect for the arrogant bastards in what they called the 'SS' after its German prequel.

With the conversation at a dead end, Buffy moved back to the desk where she had removed the cube. She recalled there being more than one thread coming out of it before she had removed it. They were barely visible, but she could see one going down the leg of the desk, over to the computer rack, and although the thread had been broken in several places by her tossing things around, could even see where it connected to one of the computer boxes. Pointing it out to the General, he could just barely make it out, but didn't doubt her word. He politely moved out of her way when she returned to the desk.

The other wire, however, was harder to find. It went around the desk, down the other leg, off to the wall. She had to pull out the metal covering for the room heaters to follow it along the wall, bending down on her knees because whoever put it in really wanted it to remain hidden, suspecting the men were checking out her butt instead of watching what she was doing. Finally it followed a pipe leading from the heater into the wall and disappeared. Frowning, ignoring the looks she was getting from the others, Buffy reached back and punched the painted masonry block, smashing it easily. She could see the pipe, and, just barely, the wire following the pipe within the hollow cores of the masonry blocks which made up the wall. Hoping she wasn't making a mistake and demolishing a perfectly good wall for no reason, she used her forearm to smash the blocks leading directly up along the pipe, then used her hand like a zipper to rip out the shattered hunks of masonry.

Slightly above head height another pipe crossed the heating pipe. It was thinner, made of stainless steel, with a thin yellow line painted every few inches. When he saw it the other new officer, the colonel, sucked in his breath audibly. "_Ho. Lee. Shit_." Both Buffy and the General turned to face him, but he didn't say anything more, just came closer to verify what he suspected. Pointing to the smaller pipe, he looked over at Buffy. "Please tell me whatever you're seeing isn't going into this."

He couldn't see the thin thread, so Buffy grabbed a Sharpie from the desk and marked it up the pipe and over to a tiny, barely-visible round plug where it was attached to the smaller stainless steel pipe. By then the General had figured out what was making his aide freak out. "Tell me you're not thinking what I hope you're not thinking."

Sighing, the Colonel touched the pipe, careful not to go anywhere near the wire he still couldn't see. Unfortunately he could just barely make out the plug, so knew that however much he might wish she was seeing things, the thread was real. "It's the Bottom Line."

Both their faces were ashen, and from the way he reacted, the lieutenant's would have been as well had his skin been a different color. Buffy had no idea what they were talking about, and the General didn't explain. He was glaring at his aide, while simultaneously pulling his cell phone out of his uniform pocket. "I _told_ you not to tell me that." It was an old game between friends which under different circumstances might have merited a chuckle. Not this time. He used the speed dial. "George? Bob Kerrigan… She's fine. Everything you said and more. She got the thing, but she also found something else and things in general are about to get real fugly. Can you get Sam and her crew over right away? We need to figure out what the hell this stuff is, and just how bad it's going to get. Don't bother with the helipad, have them land right here. I need them here ten minutes ago… Thanks George."

Visibly bracing himself, he called another number. "This is General Robert Kerrigan. I am declaring a Bottom Out condition." None of what he said after that made much sense to Buffy. A lot of numbers and code phrases, which she figured was used to verify he was who he claimed to be. Buffy was starting to get a wee bit nervous at the seriousness everyone was treating the situation, so tried to remain unobtrusively quiet. When she noticed some sign of life from their captive she just nodded to the enlisted men, who got the message and quickly left, returning with handcuffs which they used on both his arms and legs. He also brought back the file on their captive, and while Kerrigan was on the phone Buffy quickly looked through the various papers, not really looking for anything but more as a way to pass the time.

Not wanting to be tempted into extreme violence when the State Security goons arrived, Buffy waited until the General was off the phone before suggesting she take a quick trip to the prisoners home to see if she noticed anything weird. Having a pretty good idea why she wanted to go, Kerrigan looked over at the soldiers and ordered them to accompany her. She suggested leaving one of them behind to keep an eye on the prisoner. Kerrigan frowned down at the still, and very securely bound, Goa'uld agent. "You think he might still try something?"

Shrugging, Buffy gently nudged the prone body with her foot. "Who knows. He's already conscious. Faking it pretty good though." All of the military men snapped into defensive postures, none having had the slightest idea he was awake, none questioning her statement that he was. She nodded to one of the enlisted men. "You're biggest. You stay and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. Unless its to the State Security assholes. Let him do whatever he wants to them."

With that she nodded to the Colonel, who was still looking at the small pipe as if he wanted to wish it away, and then left, the lieutenant and his more senior enlisted man accompanying her. They passed through a long line of heavily-armed soldiers in battledress uniforms lining the hallway, people running back and forth who looked at them curiously but said nothing. When they exited the building Buffy was confronted by a sight from a disaster movie; dozens of armed soldiers, hundreds more uniformed cadets being held back out of range, snipers on the rooftops of nearby buildings, the loud '_whoomp-whoomp'_ noise of a helicopter landing, its backdraft blowing up dust and debris all around. Buffy paused when she saw O'Neill and Carter among the group jumping from the helicopter the second it landed.

The three armed men accompanying them passed her by with polite nods, but the other two stopped when they got over to her. Noise from the helicopter, which was still on the ground but not turning off its engines, forced them to almost shout to be heard even from nearby. O'Neill was smiling. "Good one kid! That's two for two!"

Buffy just shrugged, and gestured apologetically towards Carter. "I don't know what I found, but from the way they reacted I think I just caused Sam to have to put in a whole lot of extra overtime."

Gently gripping the small girl's arm for positive reinforcement, Carter looked her in the eye before speaking. "Don't _ever_ worry about that. These are things we absolutely _have_ to know about, Buffy! I'd much rather put in a few long days now than have to deal with the consequences later. You have no idea how bad they could be." She paused, then smiled. "Actually you probably do. You keep doing what you're doing, and let us handle the rest. No matter what it is."

Knowing just how busy Carter was dealing with the Xerxes problem, Buffy was happy to know she wasn't being blamed for adding to the woman's already overwhelming workload. The problem was that Carter was just so damned smart there weren't many people who could handle most of the things she did, so it wasn't a question of being afraid to delegate. So she nodded and smiled towards them and gestured for her security detail to proceed. When they got to the vehicle she was borrowing, Buffy was amazed to see the three men who had landed with her friends come out of the building carrying the prisoner, who had been securely strapped to a hard stretcher. Troops cleared the way for them to take the man to the helicopter, where they quickly got in and took off in a thundering shower of airborne debris.

As he got into the front seat, the lieutenant looked at her quizzically. "You don't see that too often. Someone taking a prisoner _away_ from State Security. The General really, _really_ doesn't want to be on your bad side."

Putting the vehicle in gear and slowly pulling away, Buffy waited for soldiers to clear away cadets, who were staring at her curiously. She pondered the lieutenants assessment, but couldn't think of too many other explanations. It would suit her just fine if she had enough clout to cause aggravation for the NID. If she couldn't kill them, then she felt she deserved to make their lives at least a little bit more miserable. With that thought in mind her mood improved considerably as they reached the gate blocking the entrance to Academy property. A dozen cars and trucks were parked at the exit, forbidden to leave until the alert was officially cancelled, but Buffy was just waved through, armed soldiers staring at her curiously but nobody interfering.

Outside the gate there was a bit of a media scrum, two trucks with satellite links parked just outside, four reporter and their crews immediately jumping in front of the car. Raising a hand to block her face from the camera, Buffy lowered the window a bit and interrupted the shouted questions with a cry of "No cameras!"

The lieutenant wanted to say something, but knew he couldn't give her orders, and noticed that her suddenly wide-eyed expression seemed to have lost about 30 IQ points between one second and the next when she opened the car window and spoke to the reporters. "I'll only talk 'off the record.'"

One of the reporters, more aggressive than the others, demanded to know why she didn't want to appear on camera. Giggling like the schoolgirl she suddenly appeared to be, Buffy bent her head a bit and made an obvious attempt to try to blush. "Ma daddy would just _freak out_ if he saw who I was going out with when I'm supposed to be helping out with the church picnic!" The reporters looked into the car at the two large, stoic, and very _black_ soldiers, looked at each other, and were trying to come up with something to say when Buffy continued. "If you all are wondering what is going on in there though, I can tell you, but you can't say it was me telling you to whoever you tell it to when you tell it. Okay?" Her audience was still trying to figure out what the hell she had just said when she babbled on like the airhead she was so effectively pretending to be. "I overheard some of the army boys… " even the reporters knew it was an Air Force base "… who were saying that one of the teachers had gone crazy; he had a gun and everything. He was a computer geek, so no real surprise; they're all crazy if you ask me. They evacuated the whole building and some guards went in to arrest him or whatever, and he shot at them, but they took away his gun and everything. Then the helicopter came in with a bomb squad and they're looking for a bomb just in case the nutty professor guy had a bomb too, and the students are just standing around saying it was all really _cool_, the way the army guys came in like a SWAT team, even though nobody actually got shot or anything. Not even the crazy computer guy; they just took his gun away and tied him up. Which kinda sucks because that would have been really _cool_ 'cause they had ambulances with lights flashing and everything, but it was just one nutty old guy with a gun so not much really exciting happened except it did make it easy for me to leave without daddy seeing me or anything."

When she paused for air the reporters sort of looked at each other, one muttering a polite 'thank-you' before backing away from the car carefully. Smiling brainlessly, Buffy waved to them as she took off towards town. The soldiers in the car just stared at her, silently, not knowing what the hell to say, until the officer sighed, pulled up his cell phone, and called someone to explain the story Buffy had just given the reporters. Buffy's hearing was good enough to hear the person at the other end of the line say "Okay; we can run with that" before hanging up.

The man in the back, who she finally realized was the lowest level of the sergeant rank, finally spoke up. "May I ask you a question, ma'am?" Looking at him in the mirror, no longer looking anything like the vacuous airhead she had appeared to be only minutes earlier, Buffy nodded. "Are you human?"

She didn't know if she should be offended or not. "Uh.. yeah. Born and raised in sunny California."

He nodded. "Good. I was kinda wondering for a bit there. And, well, you're kinda hot, so it would have really freaked me out if it turned out you were a lizard or something."

That made Buffy laugh louder than she had in longer than she could remember. She didn't quite lose control of the car, but seeing the wry smiles on the faces of the two men turn to grimaces of fear, she returned attention to her driving, having seen similar expressions on the faces of her passengers on many occasions. The lieutenant directed her to the location of the address that had been on the man's file, a small rental property, one whose landlord hadn't spent much on upkeep. Moving around to the back, Buffy simply went up to the door, grabbed the handle and twisted until metal gave way. She entered the single-floor 'ranch' style house, followed by two men who by then knew better than to ask any questions.

Their prisoner had been into computers in a big, big way. A bunch of them were in various room, hard drives '_whir_-ing' away, even more hard drives mounted on racks between computers, their own power supplies ensuring they were in constant operation. Each rack held dozens of hard drives, and there were dozens of racks in the living room and one bedroom. Other than the electronics there was very little furniture in the place, aside from a small bed, one chair, a few utensils left unwashed in the sink. The officer whistled slowly at the computer equipment. "I think this guy is trying to download the entire internet. It will take years to go through the contents of these hard drives."

Reaching out with her senses, searching for the Goold signature she was starting to get a better feel for, Buffy felt around until she saw a small basket of colored rocks, holding up a single candle. The rocks were small, only an inch or two across, but she smiled as she picked up one that didn't look any different than the others. "I think we can leave them for State Security to go through. I hope they enjoy it." Tossing up the rock, catching it, and putting it in her pocket, Buffy then gestured for the door. "That should be all, gentlemen. Did either of you leave any fingerprints?" They both shook their heads, one mentioning that hers would be on the door handle. Shrugging her shoulders, Buffy didn't even bother to rub the prints away when she closed the door behind them.

On the way back to the base Buffy glanced over at the lieutenant. "What's the Bottom Line?"

He sighed. Ordinarily he would never discuss the matter with a civilian, but this was obviously no ordinary civilian. When a four star general went out of his way to be nice, and her id card opened pretty much every door owned by the US government, it was very apparent she had access to anything she wanted in terms of state secrets. Given what she had just done, the abilities she had just demonstrated, he figured she _was_ a state secret, far more so than the Bottom Line. "It's a special, highly secure data pipe designed to carry only the most top-secret information. The pipe is kept in a vacuum, so any breach should be detected. Inside is a laser beam carrying all the data in an encoded stream. If the laser is blocked or intercepted or interfered with in any way it should be detected. All the data is encoded with the most secure, uncrackable encryption system known to man. The pipe itself doesn't show up on any plans or documents, and if any part of it is inadvertently uncovered, it is immediately ripped out and secretly replaced somewhere else. Basically, its what the Pentagon and Cheyenne Mountain use when they want to talk about nuclear war, what they use to send launch codes to missiles in North Dakota and bombers in Omaha."

Realizing the implications, Buffy had one of those 'Oh shit!' moments, and finally understood why Kerrigan had reacted the way he had. Carter wouldn't be the only one working late that night. When they got back to the Academy, the gates were still closed. She pulled off to the side of the road, at the end of a long line of cars waiting to get into the base. When the men looked at her questioningly, Buffy said she was just going to let them off while she returned to the mountain. Both men appeared surprised by her words. The lieutenant needed clarification. "Uh… given everything we've seen, aren't you going to put us into isolation, or security detention, or something?"

After her spectacular flame-out leading the Potentials, Buffy was trying to be more careful when she was put into a position of authority, to think things through before speaking, to consider the implications of her decisions and how they would impact others. Not just the people receiving her orders, but those who would have to deal with the people receiving her orders. Technically speaking, she had no authority to give these men orders in the first place. But it was obvious _they_ had been told she had such authority, and the people who told them _did_ have the authority to give them orders. It was becoming increasingly apparent that she was being tested, given enough freedom to act on her own initiative, to see how she reacted, testing how much rope she should be given. Buffy strongly suspected Hammond was behind it simply because no one else had the power to do it, or knew her well enough to think it was something worth discovering. She was surprised at how determined she was not to disappoint him. And that gave her a hint how to proceed. "Didn't you sign an oath when you joined up?"

They both seemed to suddenly sit at attention. "Yes, ma'am. We did."

Buffy just shrugged. "Then you either meant it or you didn't."

She left it at that. For a long few seconds there was silence, both men staring at her, fascinated. When the sergeant in the back seat spoke, his voice was very soft, adamantly proud. "I _meant_ it, ma'am." When the lieutenant glanced back and met his eyes, both men reached the same conclusion, a silent understanding. They nodded to her and opened their doors, quietly leaving the vehicle. They stood, almost at attention, not only as she drove away, but until she was completely out of sight, before crossing the road back to the Academy grounds.


	16. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

**Far Beyond Normal**

**C****hapter Fifteen**

When she got back to Cheyenne Mountain, the General was waiting for her at his parking spot. After carefully backing into his stall, she left the vehicle, smiling at her two-star reception committee. "I told you! Not a scratch on it!"

Hammond just smiled, and silently took a few of the shopping bags she handed him, not realizing that was a breach of military etiquette on par with desecrating the flag. Ordinarily, major generals were _not_ porters, but Hammond was no ordinary major general. And after her activities that day, he had no intention of ever even attempting to teach her military etiquette. So far he was pretty happy with her just the way she was. The parking lot was actually a fair walk from the mountain entrance, so there was more than enough time for Buffy to tell him much of what she had seen and done, her report far less linear and professional than those he would get from one of his team leaders, but filled with amusing anecdotes and fashion observations that made it somewhat more entertaining than most post-mission debriefings he attended, if a bit harder to follow.

They had almost reached the entrance to the mountain when Buffy suddenly stopped, staring at the trees outside the gate. Her concentration was so intense she never noticed that half a dozen men, who had been just oh-so-casually walking along, immediately reached for their weapons, on full alert for whatever sniper or alien spy their unusual new asset had detected with her amazing senses. Hammond stopped as well, not interfering, allowing her to do whatever it was she did, knowing that when dealing with wild talents such as hers it always paid off to give it broad latitude on how it acted. It took the better part of a minute before she put down the bags she had been carrying in her right hand, not looking at her stout companion but framing her fingers so that he could see an area near the entrance gate.

Seeing nothing but a few trees and a fence, Hammond just shrugged. "I don't see anything."

"The trees." She sounded distracted. "The colors." It took her a few seconds to return her attention to the General, and her hazel eyes were huge and frightened. "They look _exactly_ the way they did in my dream."

Hammond finally understood, and felt his stomach clench. "We're out of time."

She nodded, turning back to look at a scene that would have been quite beautiful, were not the significance so ugly. "They'll be here soon; a day or two at the most."

"Okay. At least we know." Waiting for her to pick up her shopping bags and walk with him into the mountain, Hammond wasn't surprised when she didn't begin talking about the days events again. They no longer mattered. For the next little while, only one thing would matter.

* * *

The consensus of opinion was that capturing the second Goa'uld infiltrator was critical. But until Buffy had a prophetic dream nobody really knew _how_ critical, or _why_ it was critical. Unfortunately she was too hyped up to sleep, and repeatedly warned people that it was never a good idea to rely on psychic warnings, because they tended to fail just when you needed them most. Hammond thought it a pretty good warning, and had his planning teams proceed under the assumption that no more prophetic visions would be forthcoming. If she did have another dream it was all well and good… but until it happened they had to come up with a plan of action based on what data they had available.

The meetings had grown too large to be handled in the SGC boardroom. Since NORAD now had primary responsibility for fighting off the incursion with the demise of Xerxes, the meetings were held twice a day in their much larger briefing room. And Buffy was no longer asked to leave once she had given them the results of her latest dream. Nothing was said about it, no reasons were given, but after she explained how she had detected the second agent and showed the rock she had taken from his home, Hammond basically told her to sit back down rather than asking her to leave. She was very careful to not speak unless spoken to, to offer her opinion only when asked, to be as silent and unobtrusive as a very attractive civilian woman could be in a room filled with mostly older military men. And she watched how Hammond handled a meeting.

She recalled with embarrassment the long, pontificating diatribes she had given when dealing with the Potentials. She compared and contrasted it to the way Hammond took control while almost never saying a word. He kept the meeting on track, restrained the enthusiasm of some of the participants, made decisions when a judgment call was required. Most of the time, however, he let others speak. They provided the expertise, the ideas, the enthusiasm; his job was to bring that out without allowing the meeting to descend into anarchy. Everyone participated, everyone went away with an assignment, a small part of the larger puzzle to consider, a subgroup to discuss it with. All resources were put to use, everyone felt like part of the team, knowing they would all have some input into whatever solution might eventually be decided upon. Although their situations didn't quite compare, Buffy was uncomfortably aware of how Hammond's methods contrasted with her own, and how different were the results.

She returned to her quarters with a lot to think about. They weren't making any big production out of teaching her, but Buffy was very aware how much she was learning, the leadership skills she had never even considered. Knowing full well how important any information she might be able to provide would be over the next few days Buffy tried to sleep, but too many thoughts were running through her head, too many regrets over having missed what now seemed so obvious, when it really counted. Lying on an uncomfortable military-issue bed, hours away from possible nuclear destruction, and she was obsessing over her mistakes with the First. Hammond would be disappointed in her. Trying to divert her brain, she turned on the small television that had been provided, amused to see they actually got satellite tv so deep underground. Not so amused to see that every channel was filled with stories about the President having given a prime time address to the nation, describing intelligence reports suggesting there was a strong possibility of a terrorist attack on the country, possibly involving nuclear weapons, within the next two days.

Scenes of chaos as people tried to evacuate cities. Rumors and denials and accusations of lying, of cover-ups, of deceptions. The country was tearing itself apart, and not just because of her visions. Other issues were at work. Other demons were affecting people here, ones not so obvious as they had been in Sunnydale. She wasn't the only one having problems keeping her eye on the ball, obsessing over event long since passed, allowing old traumas to divert her attention from present realities and future needs. There was something wrong with this world, something even more wrong than it being in the path of limitless Goold greed and ambition. Perhaps experiencing a horrific attack from space would knock some sense into them, would allow them to focus on what was important. But she doubted it. And even if it were true, it would be a catastrophically expensive lesson to learn.

Turning off the tv set, Buffy lay down in the dark, and wondered what was happening to her. Wondered what was happening to this world. Wondered what part she had to play in it. Wondered if she would be up to the task, having failed so spectacularly before.

When she finally fell asleep, she never even knew it.

* * *

As was usual recently, she slept less than two hours. When she got dressed and returned to the meeting room, dozens of people were already there, talking quietly, drinking coffee, acting like nothing so much as expectant fathers in the waiting room at a hospital nursery. When Buffy appeared, everything stopped; all talking abruptly ceased, donut-wielding hands hung in midair, cigarettes were left to smolder. She paused for a second, a bit nervous to be the center of so much intense attention, but quickly got control of herself and faced the General, who was looking as rumpled as she had ever seen him appear. "Everything changed."

* * *

Before they adjourned to the main meeting room up on the NORAD level Buffy gave everyone a quick run-through of the new vision. Hammond immediately called in Carter and more technical people than Buffy had seen outside of the MIT campus. When they got up to the meeting room enough brass was already present to pack the room, and despite it's size there was standing-room-only even before the SGC contingent arrived. At least five of the officers outranked Hammond… but he nonetheless took the seat at the head of the table, while they sat silently in chairs along the wall. This was _his_ meeting, but a lot of people were interested in what was going to be decided there.

After calling the meeting to order, Hammond gave a quick over-view to get everyone up to speed, and then had Buffy recap her latest dream. Having had a warning, Hammond knew the reaction it would get and quickly restored order when a dozen people tried to speak the second she paused for air. It was another lesson Buffy took to heart: when necessary, Hammond could be a very intimidating man. "_Enough_! This is a military briefing and I will have it conducted with appropriate decorum or I _will_ have anyone behaving unduly disruptive removed from the premises! Is that clear?" By Hammond's standards that was the equivalent of throwing a profanity-laden tirade, and it quickly brought about the silence he demanded. "The important thing is that if Miss Summers is correct, we are able to get in at least one long-range hit on the Goa'uld battlefleet. This would indicate that Xerxes is back in play. Is this even possible? Major Carter?"

Other civilian computer experts had wanted to answer, but when Hammond glared at them they reluctantly held their silence and permitted Sam to respond. "Sir, we have barely begun to go through the code Dr. McGregor worked on. We have already found some indications of subroutines that aren't in the approved program log. It's starting to look like my earlier protests that what Buffy claimed would happen was impossible, is turning out to be not only possible but likely. I have no idea how he did it. I have no idea how much viral code is buried in the software. Until we do, my recommendation would have to be against using Xerxes under any circumstances. If we turn it on, I seriously doubt if we could control it for even one shot."

Hammond noted the thin smile on O'Neill's face, although his second in command hadn't spoken since hearing the girl's latest prophetic vision. He knew that his friend liked to play the fool, but there was a first-class mind operating there, and he wanted to know what the man had come up with that he hadn't. "Jack. Do you agree with the major's assessment?"

Standing, O'Neill didn't bother doing his usual 'I don't know why you'd ask me that' self-deprecating shuck-and-jive; the situation was too serious for it. "When it comes to technical stuff I _always_ agree with Carter. Even when I don't know what the hell she's talking about I still agree with her. But in this case I think she's missing the trees for the forest, if you get my meaning. We might not be able to trust Xerxes as a _system_, but the Avenger cannons still work, and they're the only things we have with the reach to take out a Goa'uld ship at the distance of Jupiter the way Buffy saw it happen."

When he saw Carter frowning O'Neill took his seat to let her point out the problem, having already seen it but wanting her to let everyone else know. "Sir, Xerxes is an _integrated_ system. Long-range detection, hyper-dimensional sensors, computerized firing controls, all working in an environment compounded by relativistic effects. We can fire the cannons, yes; but we'd be firing them randomly, essentially firing blind at ranges where accuracies of a fraction of an arc-second are required. We also have no idea how the intense gravitational and electro-magnetic environment near Jupiter will affect the trajectory of the plasma bolt fired from the cannons. At the moment Jupiter is 39 light-minutes from Earth. Since flight times will be on the order of forty two minutes, there is no way for us to adjust our aim until long after the target has moved on."

O'Neill stood. "Carter, you're thinking like a scientist. Forget the physics and the engineering and the details crap. We're dealing with a friggin' _psychic_ here, so none of that matters. We _know_ it's going to be aimed right because Buffy _says_ we hit the target. Case closed." He could see Carter almost having palpations over that and decided not to indulge her in pointing out the gaping holes in logic. O'Neill had another point he wanted to bring up. "There's something else you need to consider. What the hell are the Goa'uld doing out at Jupiter!"

Someone in the crowd offered the obvious answer. "Replenishing their hydrogen stocks from a gas-giant in preparation…" but O'Neill waved that aside. "Their primary objective is to attack _Earth_! They can get gas afterwards. Think it through: if they know Xerxes is compromised they should come straight for us knowing it would miss, the way Buffy saw it happening originally. They're _not_ doing that because something changed. What changed? We captured their boy inside the SGC. _We_ now know that Xerxes is boned. And _they_ know we know Xerxes is boned. They assume we'll change our tactics, not bother with a system we know is compromised, so they figure they may as well replenish their tanks _before_ the fight. That gives them more reaction mass, more fuel, more firepower… and without Xerxes there's not a damned thing we can do about it."

He held up his hand to hold off on any interruptions. "But they _don't_ know Buffy also got their _other_ agent. They expect to be warned if we change our tactics again. So even though they know that we know Xerxes is boned, they _don't_ know that we know they know it! Do you follow me?"

Pleased with his summary, O'Neill scowled at the look of confusion on almost every face around the table. Sighing, he went back over it. "They're over-finessing. They're relying on having warning from an agent-in-place they don't know has been captured. So instead of just coming in and getting the job done, they're going to refuel under the assumption that it helps them without exposing them to any increased risk, because if there was anything we could do about it their agent would give them adequate warning. So they're going to be sitting there, blind and dumb, giving us a shot at them before they even think the fight has begun."

Most of the civilians weren't seeing it, but Hammond understood. He gestured for O'Neill to sit down before resuming control of the meeting. "Okay, we have a window of vulnerability. We know where they'll be… approximately. We know when they'll be there… approximately. The problem is that Major Carter is insisting that 'approximately' isn't good enough. If we had the entire Xerxes system available we could probably destroy their entire fleet. Of course, if we had Xerxes available our opponent wouldn't be attacking us in the first place. So how do we get the degree of accuracy we need given the resources we have available?"

When he nodded to her, Carter stood. "Xerxes is designed to detect and respond to an attack coming in from any vector. Thanks to Buffy we know the precise line of advance the enemy will be using, which simplifies our work by orders of magnitude. Basic celestial mechanics gives optimal trajectories for them to use when flying from Jupiter to Earth. However they have engines, so even if they are following the most mathematically probable path they can change it quickly, and we won't know about it in time to adjust our aim. We're limited by speed of light constraints; it will take the shots fired by the Avenger cannon 42 minutes to travel from the moon to Jupiter, and 39 more minutes before we get a signal back at the speed of light showing how well we did so we can adjust our aim. The Goa'uld can travel a _long_ way in eighty minutes."

Hammond was frowning, not quite saying she wasn't addressing the question he had asked but letting her know to get on with it. Getting back on track, Carter continued. "What I'm saying is that we get one shot at this. We will know their position only for a few seconds, probably no more than thirty before they react, and the Avenger system has a cycle time of four seconds. That gives us a maximum of seven shots –probably less-- which might have a chance of hitting one of what Buffy warns us will be six targets. Given the size of the target and the error box of the plasma bolts after traveling that distance, mitigated somewhat by the dispersion of the plasma and the sheer size of the Goa'uld ships, even if we have precise, _exact_ co-ordinates for the targets, our chances of actually hitting one are under three percent. Those are not good odds, sir."

The General glared at her as she took her seat, not mad at her but at the reality she was forcing him to address. "Yet Buffy's dream suggests that we _do_, in fact, hit one of them."

This time Carter didn't stand before responding. "_One_ out of six, yes sir. But we won't have a chance at hitting the other five, not at that range, not with the rest of Xerxes offline. By the time we located them again they will have almost likely already fired upon our lunar facility, so we probably won't get a second opportunity to shoot back at long range. And once they get here, it won't be pretty."

That caused some murmuring as they had all heard the rest of Buffy's vision. The Avenger system was their long-range offensive punch. Once closer to Earth, ground-based 'Legion' guns were supposed to take over. Nobody had mentioned those guns to her, but Buffy described them attempting to destroy the enemy ships and failing miserably. Orbiting nuclear missiles took up the fight but in her vision had been swatted aside like flies. The Goa'uld hadn't been able to land unopposed like they had in her previous visions, but the destruction they had brought down on the planet from orbit in retaliation for the affront had actually been worse than in those earlier dreams.

One of the civilians stood up at that point, waiting for Hammond to acknowledge him before speaking. "I know that none of you want to say it, but it needs to be brought up; by resisting we're actually making things _worse_." He scowled at the glaring looks he was getting from some of the military people. "Don't look at me like that. I'm just pointing out the obvious. _Something_ has changed enough that the Goa'uld feel they can't land. The only thing in the vision that is different is we take out one of their ships. So that means they sit in orbit and take pot-shots at us instead of landing and trying to fight it out on the ground. So this time we don't end up as slaves, but we take ten times as many casualties and trillions of dollars more infrastructure is lost. Stuff that we need to fight the Goa'uld if we don't want to end up as slaves anyway, I should point out." He sat down to quiet muttering among those seated away from the table.

"I have a fairly good idea as to what has changed." Carter held up the unobtrusive 'rock' Buffy had recovered from the second agents' apartment. "We think this is a remote unit for a short-range FTL communications device. Their agent would have used it to provide intelligence to the approaching fleet. When they don't get anything from him they'll know he's been captured. This won't affect our options, because given Buffy's vision, it would seem that they don't expect to hear from him until they're closer to Earth than Jupiter. But the implications for us are staggering! Right now we rely on the StarGate or captured Goa'uld ships to give us not only the ability to move between planets, but to communicate on an interstellar level. The sad fact is that we can get to a planet in another star system far quicker than we can get information from the other planets in our own."

Looking around the room, Carter tried to communicate her excitement. "But if we can locate the device linked to this unit, tear it apart, study it, _learn_ from it, then our defensive posture would change _radically_! Imagine a system like Xerxes augmented by FTL telemetry over interplanetary distances! We would know about any attack the moment it happens, follow their movements in real-time, and be able to respond instantly." She let them all see the small, green colored rock. "This tiny device has the potential to alter our strategic posture more than anything besides the StarGate itself. I suspect Dr. McGregor might have one as well, they can't take the chance that we'll find it, and their objective is to destroy it at all costs."

That got everyone's attention. A reliable FTL communications device had been a priority objective of the project for a long time. The possibility that it might be at hand would have been tremendously exciting under other circumstances. Even knowing the price they might be forced to pay to keep it, that price might be worth paying. Hammond permitted some discussion on the subject, not letting the session get out of hand but getting more people involved, more open debate over their options. One good suggestion was that since they also knew where the Goa'uld ships would be in orbit, once again thanks to Buffy's vision, they might be able to take them out. Concealed orbital mines might have a chance if the Legion guns were as ineffective as she claimed they would be.

Another suggestion came from a voice Buffy had never heard from before, the thick Russian accent not just distinctive but rather unexpected given their location right next to the war-room under Cheyenne Mountain. His thick accent and the complexity of the words he chose meant that Buffy had no idea what he was asking, even though he was speaking to her. Carter translated into American. Essentially, the man wanted to know if she saw any more details in her vision of the Goa'uld fleet at Jupiter. Any moons or bright background stars and their exact positions relative to the planet and the ships. When she nodded, Carter looked like she wanted to kick herself over not having thought of it sooner.

When Hammond noticed her reaction, she explained. "Buffy has always said that she remembers her prophetic dreams in considerable detail. If she can give us the position of the invasion fleet with reference to background objects, we can get a far more precise estimate as to their location and arrival time. It won't really buy us a lot more of a time-on-target window for the Avenger cannons because the second they realize we're shooting at them they'll scatter, and there's no way to predict which way they'll go afterwards. Still, it will definitely increase our odds of getting a good hit on them with our initial salvo. This is a really good idea, sir." She sounded pretty ticked that she hadn't thought of it first to Buffy, who watched as the Russian guy brought up mathematical maps on one of the display screens, showing 'cones of probability' and other scientific crap that probably wouldn't have made a whole lot of sense even if he tried to explain it in English instead of whatever Russian-accented babbling was coming out of his mouth.

Once again Carter came to her rescue, summarizing his work. "You can see that the most efficient trajectory for ships arriving on the standard hyperspace path from Goa'uld-controlled space to our solar system over the next twenty four hours gives them a fairly wide option for going into a hyperbolic path for refueling at Jupiter with the intention of quickly heading towards earth on a least-time sub-light trajectory. But notice how the cone narrows as they leave the upper atmosphere following the orbital skim to align with earth? That won't change much over the next day and a half. Now if we zoom in…" the computer image magnified that part of the chart "…you can see some of the Galilean satellites in the background. I'm going to move along this path until Buffy recognizes the alignment of the background objects from her vision. Can you do that?"

Nodding, Buffy watched as the Russian manipulated the parameters of his simulation. After only a few seconds she told him to stop, noticing one orange colored moon from the vision. It was close, but not quite perfect. He changed a few numbers and it was in the correct place, but another, smaller point of light wasn't right. This went on for awhile because there was several possibilities given that Buffy could only be sure about the two brightest points of light, and although they were certain one was the moon Io the other could have been one of several objects. Given her time limit, they came up with four possibilities over the next forty eight hours, and those narrowed down the time of the attack down to something they could work with.

With the first possibility only a few hours away the general turned the discussion over to how they would fight the surviving ships once they got within the range of earth's remaining weapons. There was considerably more discussion on this than the initial response using the Avenger cannon, since that was limited by the mathematics of the situation. Buffy's disclosure that the Goa'uld knew of and had a counter to the Legion guns meant that all their previous battle plans had to be thrown out, and a new one put in place within possibly only hours. Fortunately they had the small Goa'uld 'Tel'tak' –class cargo ship available to haul equipment into orbit, and weren't limited to rockets, or there wouldn't have been time to mount any redeployment plans. Hammond picked up a phone and ordered it to be loaded with nuclear weapons from the SGC stockpile and to prepare for lift-off as soon as the President signed off on it.

Silently observing the discussion flowing around her, Buffy was amazed at the complexity of the issues brought up and the breadth of knowledge of the people present. Her previous experiences with military personnel had not left her with an overly-favorable opinion of those who entered the profession, but this group was as talented and opinionated as any she had ever met. Somehow she had expected that any deviation from the instructions of the person in command would be forbidden, obedience demanded, one person making the decisions and everyone else being charged with implementing his or her brilliant plan. That wasn't the way Hammond ran things; everything was open to debate until a decision was reached, and only then was the floor closed to further discussion on that issue. It would have been a waste of time: by then, he'd already moved on to the next subject.

It wasn't only the techniques he used that captured her attention: it was how carefully decisions were arrived at, the implications considered, the ramifications discussed. Buffy's contribution to the session was limited to very careful questions on the response of the Goa'uld force to the Legion guns; did they have to shut down to withstand the gun's impact, or just shrug it off without notice? Every detail was important and she didn't know most of what they needed from her. She did however reiterate that they couldn't plan too precisely based on her visions, since their latest moves would have already changed the outcome. The vision was only accurate if nothing changed in the interim, and a whole lot had changed just over the previous few hours. With that reminder, Hammond took up a subject that Buffy knew had been another of her failures; flexibility. She had assumed that you either played it completely by ear, or planned out your campaign to the last detail. She was soon given a clinic on flexible response, as the group brought up possible options, but never went too far into details, leaving that up to the people who would actually have to handle it in the field.

It wasn't until the meeting was nearing its conclusion that they returned to the subject the civilian had brought up at the start; whether they should use the Avenger cannon at all, and instead let the Goa'uld land, trusting that their frantic SOS would reach the Asgard in time for them to come to their rescue, casualties under that scenario being far less than they would be if they resisted the initial attack. Nobody was especially surprised that none of the military people were in favor of it. Fewer casualties or not, laying down their arms while they could still shoot back was not something any soldier could accept. But there were a lot of civilians in the project, mostly scientists, who were generally less emotional in their response, more interested in the bottom line. Some of them argued that fewer casualties by definition was a better outcome. Hammond had a pretty good idea about just how to counter that suggestion. Standing to terminate the debate, he gestured towards Buffy. "You all know Miss Summers. You all know that we are here today only because of the warnings her special abilities have provided. And you also know that she is not one to blindly follow military policy, as indicated quite clearly by her… uh… difference of opinion, shall we say, regarding our interrogation policies. Given that, I think we'd all be interested in what she might have to say on this particular subject. Buffy?"

A bit nervously, Buffy stood as the general took his seat. From the attention she was receiving, it was apparent that most of the people present actually were interested in her opinion, which surprised her. Until then she hadn't been aware her status had changed so much among the military. She would have been even more stunned to realize that it was the trust she had shown to the two soldiers who had accompanied her to the spy's apartment which made the difference. They hadn't said much, not wanting to violate security, but they had told one part of what had happened to their friends, and the story had spread quickly. There had been a lot of speculation as to her identity, and since none of those who actually witnessed her in action would talk about what they had seen beyond the fact that she was 'amazing,' being treated like someone whose word meant something by someone in a position of authority, meant a lot to the rank-and-file. Especially when they compared her actions to those of State Security, who trusted no one.

After her long-winded speeches hadn't gone down too well with the Potentials, Buffy tried to keep it short and to the point. "I've fought monsters since I was fifteen years old, and if I've learned anything it's that you make sure they know better than to attack your home. They want to fight me on the street or down an alley, that's one thing. But come to my home to continue the fight and I'll not only kill you, I'll find out where you came from, hunt you down, and destroy the place. My home is off-limits. My _family_ is off-limits. Everyone knows it.

"For what it's worth, my own opinion is that you never _rely_ on someone else to protect your home. I have no problem with someone else lending a helping hand, or the cops following up afterwards… but nobody comes to my home, hurts my family, and just walks away afterwards. _Nobody_ gets a free shot while I just hide and hope the cavalry arrives in time to save me. Some things you just have to stand up for. Not just because it's _right_, but because if you don't, it'll keep happening." She looked around, trying to meet the eyes of the civilians in the room. "Either way we're going to get hurt. If we fight back and lose, the survivors will at least have the satisfaction of knowing their loved ones died for a reason, trying to defend their home. The other way, they'll have died for _nothing_, because the Goold will just come back again later when the Asgard aren't around. That's the way monsters do things. Even the human kind of monster."

She sat down. As per her new policy, she tried to think it through, and it wasn't hard to figure out why Hammond had asked her to speak. She was the youngest, smallest, and 'girliest' person in the room. He probably had a pretty good idea as to what she would say. It was one thing for the civilians to dismiss the opinion of their military counterparts as the posturing of violence-obsessed troglodytes, but a bit harder to refuse to listen to a young, female civilian who said the same thing. Looking around the room, she could see from various facial expressions that the General had been correct in his assessment. Much of the opposition to the idea of fighting back, even of firing on incoming ships before there was any actual proof beyond Buffy's vision that they were actually prepared to attack Earth, had disappeared.

With a thin smile visible, Hammond stood and faced the row of senior officers who had been observing the meeting without comment. "General West, I believe the consensus of opinion within the SGC is that we should attempt to repulse any potential invader using any and all means possible. This being the case, I would like to formally request firing authority be granted to Colonel Mgimba on the lunar base, and launch authority for placing nuclear mines into earth orbit out to the L1 and L2 Lagrange points."

The man he was addressing, a four star general in army uniform, was the NORAD commander who pretty much outranked everyone who didn't live in Washington DC. He stood and addressed the room. "I agree. Since we have some time, I'd like you to come up with a final deployment proposal for the Joint Chiefs to submit to the President. Miss Summers, let us know the minute you have anything to add. Until then, we maintain DefCon 3 status." With that he nodded towards Hammond, and then again at Buffy, before leaving with his posse. Buffy wondered what word the military used instead of 'posse,' but since everyone else had moved on to discuss how to save the world from imminent alien invasion she figured it was a question better left to another time and didn't bother asking.

Unable to leave in case they needed her, but quickly bored as the discussion became increasingly technical, Buffy occupied herself by considering her own options. It was a virtual certainty that Cheyenne Mountain would be one of the first targets of the Goa'uld fleet. That was why one of the Legion guns had been emplaced near the facility. There was some question as to whether the additional defenses could withstand the first direct impact of the main battery of a Ha'tak-class battleship. Nobody thought they could handle a second shot. Everyone around the table would have also been aware of that fact, aware that even if they did everything right, chances were pretty good none of them would survive the first few minutes of the attack. Some of them would be moving on to the Alpha site soon after the meeting ended, their expertise required if humanity was to survive the attack, even if Earth didn't. Buffy herself would not be one of them. She kinda/sorta expected they would offer her the chance to bail, but didn't think anyone would try too hard to talk her out of it when she declined. Slayer dreams only worked when she was asleep, so might not be of much use during the fight, but you never knew, and Buffy wasn't going to run out on a fight she had just recommended everyone else accept.

So she might die… again. It seemed kind of wasteful to bring her back to life, to show her the mistakes she had made, then just let her be bombed into itty-bitty pieces before she could do anything about it. But stuff like that happened. Being brought back didn't mean she was destined to live forever. At the level the PtB's operated, they might have needed her just to step on the proverbial butterfly, with the results of her action not taking effect until sixty five million years later. It was entirely possible she would die there, along with everyone else. Yet she felt almost nothing. No fear, no regret, no special desire to survive. She wished she cared more. A person should care about surviving. About living. But no matter how much she wished it, when the meeting finally ended an hour later she felt no different.


	17. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

**Far Beyond Normal**

**Chapter Sixteen**

There was no way she was going to sleep. Big clocks around the entire facility were counting down the times when the planetary alignments had fit Buffy's vision. When the first one passed, the counter was reset, and people got on with their jobs, using the extra time to help coordinate more troop deployments, move additional supplies where they might do some good, talk to frightened people on the outside who didn't know what was happening, but were expected to prepare for it anyway. The second alignment passed without anything happening. People started looking at Buffy, wanting to know if she 'saw' anything new, knowing she would tell them if she had, but silently asking anyway. With only two more possible alignments people were getting antsy, nervous. Too keyed up to sleep.

She wanted to sleep. They needed the information they could only get from her dreams. But sleep would not come. This close to a battle, there was no way sleep would ever come. But she tried, resting on her bunk, trying to ignore the outside world, but there was no way she could relax enough to even remain lying down, let alone sleep. Sleeping pills would not help. At this point only serious narcotics would put her out, and they would prevent her from dreaming. Even so, time passed. Until she felt something.

It wasn't like the feeling she got from a vampire, or a nearby Goold. Still, she knew what she was feeling. Everything she was, everything she had become, was keyed up, preparing to fight. The Slayer in her knew an enemy was nearby.

She barely noticed the people in the hallway as she got up and marched directly for the elevator. Perhaps subconsciously she might have wondered why so many people just 'happened' to be hanging out near her quarters, when no one had before, but she paid it no mind. Even the man reaching for a wall phone didn't even merit a glance. The Slayer was back in charge, and she was just along for the ride.

When she arrived at the top, hundreds of troops were congregating, all waiting for her to make her way into the War room. It had an official name, but even the people who worked there called it the War Room. When she entered, generals and other officers could be seen fixing their uniforms, having been resting, taking what might be their final opportunity to think private thoughts before 'game time.' Warned by the call from below, everyone was there to meet her as Buffy made her way over to the group. She went directly to Hammond. "_Theyyyy're heeeere_." She figured they would have all seen 'Poltergeist.'

Several of the men standing there looked to the clock. There was still more than an hour on the countdown timer. Hammond just nodded at her. "Were you able to get any more information?"

Shaking her head, Buffy admitted that she hadn't been able to sleep. "Too late to change anything now anyway."

Hammond seemed to agree. Turning to face the NORAD commander, he officially pulled the trigger. "I would recommend that we go to DefCon 2, General."

Turning to his aide, West made it official. "Send out Notification 1 to all contacts on List A. Send Warning 1 to those on List B. DefCon 2, people. We are at war. Everyone, take your places, please."

Nothing showed on any of the monitors, but nobody expected them to. The extra warning time sure came in handy, West able to give people a chance for the initial adrenaline surge to pass before it could interfere with the normal cool, clear thinking of his command team. Still, even he was surprised when only ten minutes later Buffy pointed at the big monitor, with its graph of the projected trajectory of the Goa'uld fleet around Jupiter, and announced: "There they are."

He stared at the monitor. He didn't see anything. Turning around, noticing the confused looks around him, it was apparent nobody else did either. "There's nothing there!"

Staring at him like she wondered about his sanity, Buffy was indignant. "Are you _blind_! They're _right there_!"

She pointed. There was nothing where she pointed. People were starting to look at her strangely, wondering if they had gotten all worked up over the delusions of a nut-case. Making her way over towards Buffy, Carter simply glanced around at the assembled officers, who were beginning to loom aggressively over the tiny girl, making her even more defensive. Getting the message without a word being spoken, they immediately backed off. Carter tried to be as non-confrontational as possible when she spoke. "None of us see anything on the screen, Buffy."

Confused, hyper, and now defensive, Buffy could feel herself getting ready to lash out in anger, and desperately tried to reign in her temper. "It's right there, Sam!" Again, she pointed at the screen. "Two green diamond-shapes, and four red triangles."

Carter looked up at West, both of their eyes wide. Both suddenly hoping the girl really _was_ crazy. Because they had they had agreed earlier on what symbols they would use to represent the enemy ships, expecting that the two main vessels would be Ha'tak's. But they had chosen to use the red triangles to represent those giant ships. Neither had really considered the green diamonds would be needed, since so far as they knew only Apophis had one of the giant ships, and it had been destroyed by the Replicators. Facing ships so powerful that even the mighty Ha'tek was dwarfed into insignificance had not figured into their plans. Turning to face Buffy, who continued to look at the monitor, Carter desperately hoped the girl was mistaken. "Are you _sure_, Buffy? Are you _absolutely certain_ you are seeing those symbols?"

Frustrated and feeling like she was being accused of lying, Buffy didn't know what to say. There was nothing strange going on, so far as she could tell. She was just seeing what was on the screen. "I don't know what to say, Sam. They're right there… I can see them moving a bit, but just the way you'd expect as they approach the planet. The picture is a bit fuzzy, but other than that it looks perfectly normal."

To Carter the monitor seemed crystal clear. It should be; it was an incredibly expensive high-definition plasma display. She brought up the same image on a smaller monitor, one they could touch. The same image of Jupiter and its moons popped up, the same calculated trajectory, the same crystal-clear image. She didn't see any flashing icons.

Buffy did, however, touching the screen to show where she was seeing them. Just slightly to the left of the superimposed line. When Carter paused to think, the Russian-accented civilian from the earlier meeting spoke. "You say image iz fuzzy. Fuzzy where? Line iz fuzzy or moon or stars iz fuzzy?" Frowning, she looked again at the screen.

"The stars are fine. Moons too. But Jupiter is all fuzzy. The line starts out ok at the top here, but gets wider and fuzzier as it gets closer to the planet."

He was a young guy, very thin, uber-geeky. Hair prematurely balding. If anyone told her he was the smartest guy on the planet, she'd have believed it. He did something on the keyboard, and the screen flickered just the slightest bit, but was suddenly in focus. Buffy smiled, forming her fingers into the 'ok' gesture, and Carter and the Russian guy stared at each other, eyes wide, amazed by something. Everyone could see that Carter was suddenly excited. Grabbing a grease marker, she asked Buffy to indicate the exact position of each symbol on the screen. When she did, showing the ships still slightly to the left of the line, the Russian guy adjusted some of the parameters of his equations until the ships fell directly on the line. The second she nodded that everything was aligned, Carter grabbed another terminal and started updating the targeting assignments for the Avenger cannon.

While banging away at her keyboard, Carter explained what was going on to confused onlookers. "I can't explain it, but we _think_ Buffy is seeing the Goa'uld ships in _real-time_! As in, _no_ speed-of-light delay. If it's true then we can hit them forty minutes earlier than they think we can, far more accurately than they expect. We should be able to hit them before they reach closest approach to Jupiter, where their course options are most limited. Instead of having one shot at this we might have the opportunity to drop an entire battery on them, because we know where they're going and can adjust long before they think we can. Buffy, I want you to update the position of each of those ships every sixty seconds…" someone handed her a stopwatch "… and I need to get updated targeting information to Colonel Mgimba."

There was a lot of muttering in the background as Buffy started marking the screen, the Russian guy changing numbers when her marks began to move out of alignment with the line. Before too long he didn't have to make any adjustments, and Carter uploaded the final numbers to the moonbase, which began firing ten minutes later. After the first few dozen shots the aim was slightly adjusted towards places the Goa'uld might shift once they realized they were under attack. Unless they used their main engines their options were fairly limited at that point, due to Jupiter's massive gravity, which was the whole idea of hitting at that point in their trajectory.

It took forty two minutes for the plasma bolts, traveling just under the speed of light, to travel from the moon to Jupiter's orbit. Normally it would have taken thirty nine minutes for them to get a signal back showing how well they did, which was why everyone was watching Buffy's screen to see what she saw. Someone finally put her screen up on the main board, nobody bothering with the actual board, which was only then showing the initial indications of Goa'uld ships forty minutes after Buffy first marked it on hers. Despite all the monitors showing her board, a dozen General officers were standing around Buffy as the flight time counted down, expressions tense and hopeful as they looked to her for any indication of success.

Within seconds of the timer reaching zero they had the sign they were looking for. Quietly, but exhilarantly yelling a muted "_Yes_!" everyone could hear in the dead-silent war room, she drew an 'X' through one of the red triangles. There was no shouting, but a dozen people releasing relieved breaths was a welcome sign of satisfaction. It grew even more audible a few seconds later when she indicated that one of the green triangles had begun to blink. By then she knew it meant the ship had been hit, perhaps seriously, but hadn't been destroyed. A few seconds later another red triangle blinked for a few seconds before it firmed up again, continuing on as a solid, deadly red. None the less, the officers were delighted with the results.

Orders quickly went up to the moon base to concentrate on the wounded ship. With Buffy updating its location every few seconds, it was soon apparent that it was in a purely ballistic trajectory, likely indicating complete engine failure. The other ships would be able to tow it out of the line of fire, but would likely still be expecting they would have twice as much time available to do it as they actually did, thanks to Buffy giving the defenders instant updates on which direction they were attempting to move the great ship. Her updates were instantly uplinked to the firing control system of the Avenger cannon, which made minute adjustments to the aim of the plasma bolts, affecting their trajectory over the hundreds of millions of kilometers they traveled so that they would hit a pattern centered on where they estimated the target would be at the time the bolts arrived.

Tension increased as the timer counted down to the estimated time of impact, and then passed with no indication of anything, as the green diamond had been moving in a random path since it was taken under tow. But it hadn't been moved far enough, and the people firing on it had known their business, determined to saturate everywhere it might be by the time the plasma bolts reached the proper zone. Seconds passed. When the green diamond flashed, seemed to stabilize, and then flashed again before disappearing, Buffy could not prevent herself from loudly screaming "_They got it_!" so everyone would know. There was a heart-felt cheer from the room as people realized they had just destroyed one of their enemies' most powerful warships.

She updated the board to show that in addition to taking out the green diamond, one of the red triangles had also begun to blink, likely one of the towing vessels damaged by the destruction of the bigger ship, or maybe hit a glancing blow from one of the plasma bolts. Either way the enemy fleet had lost two ships. They also had one damaged, another hurt earlier, although now apparently operating normally as far as their sensors could determine, and the two remaining undamaged ships. The first shots had only been fired ninety minutes earlier. They had performed far better than anyone had dared hope. But their best shots were behind them, as Buffy began marking radical changes in direction for the remaining ships. The Goa'uld had finally realized their opponents had sensors operating at FTL speeds, but space was vast, and they had a lot of room to maneuver once they realized the need to do so.

Thirty minutes later Buffy was surprised when West ordered Mgimba to evacuate all but the final volunteer technicians to the deep shelters. For a second she was confused, until she realized what was happening; the enemy would shoot back when it came under attack. The Goa'uld used a different weapons' system as their main gun than Earth had designed with significant assistance from the Asgard. Without the space available on a body the size of Earth's moon, they had been forced to use a system which shot bolts traveling far slower than the near-light-speed achieved by those fired by the Avenger cannon. They would have been able to locate the likely firing position of the incoming shots and respond in kind, but those rounds would take far longer to reach their target. The Avenger cannon was huge, and had been designed to partially withstand just such an assault, but soon their screens were showing images of titanic explosions on the far side of the moon. Somehow the cannon kept firing.

A minute passed. Two. Pieces of the gun were being taken out, but in the vacuum of the moon it wasn't a solid unit, more like a group of components, many of them redundant, replacements coming online when the primaries went down. Three minutes passed. The signal from the moonbase, hidden under lunar regolith and far from the cannon itself, was filled with static, the people barely able to perform their jobs as they were constantly battered by the massive reverberations of the impacting Goa'uld rounds. They were shouting, frightened but not panicking, knowing how much depended on them, determined to go down fighting, to take even more of their enemy down with them. But finally their luck ran out. Just before the timer reached four minutes the signal disappeared.

There was silence in the war room.

During the four minutes they survived, those who decided such things determined that it would be better to go after the damaged Ha'tak rather than try to hit the more dangerous remaining super ship. That ship was too fast, shifting direction too constantly, handled too professionally for them to have any chance of hitting it except through blind luck. The Ha'tak, on the other hand, was wounded, slow; there was a better than even chance they could find it. So until it went offline the Avenger was targeted towards where the ship might be when the bolts reached that distance, the possibility of actually hitting it remote, but less so than going after the other ship. Twenty six minutes of random fire proceeded that decision, none of those rounds hit anything. But as the targeted rounds arrived at their destination everyone once again shifted over to Buffy's board to see if anything came of it.

At first there was nothing. The red triangle only she could see was still blinking slowly, the grease mark trail everyone could see as she marked its position following a zig-zag pattern that grew increasingly short as she marked equal one-minute intervals. Finally there was a change. The rate of blinking increased. Buffy told everyone, and there was a tense wait as it indicated the ship had suffered further damage. The icon didn't disappear however; the damage had been severe but not critical.

Then, a few seconds later, the icon disappeared.

Buffy shouted, thinking it meant the ship had been destroyed, before realizing that the other remaining icons were also disappearing, one by one. Confused, she explained what she was seeing to an excited crowd who were still reacting to her shout, still thinking they had destroyed another ship. Suddenly sober, Hammond looked up at West, who sighed and nodded back. Looking over to another soldier at one of the consoles, West ordered a 68 minute countdown begun. Buffy looked up at them in confusion. Putting down her console, Carter explained for everyone else who didn't understand. "They've gone. We've driven them off. Something we can all be proud of… later. But they think there's no point in continuing since they've learned what they came here to find out. Thanks to you, Buffy, they think we already have an FTL warning system in place. They think that coming to Earth now won't prevent us from getting such a system and would undoubtedly irritate the Asgard, so there isn't much point in continuing.

"But they've been in a fight. They've suffered massive casualties. If they fire back 'in self-defense,' and some of those shots just happen to hit the planet, well, that's just unfortunate. They can claim it wasn't deliberate and given their situation with the Replicators, the Asgard will probably let them get away with it. If they kept coming, the way Buffy saw it happen in her earlier vision, it would be a direct challenge to the Asgard since they have promised to defend our world. This way they can hit back without being punished too hard for it. What is about to happen is going to be a lot less horrible than what happened to us in Buffy's vision; but what we are going to face in about an hour is still going to be pretty bad."

'Pretty bad' didn't begin to describe it. The defenses the SGC had placed in orbit were designed to repel ships, not bolts from energy weapons. The Russian guy made a computer model of the earth showing areas of the planet that would be in range of directed-energy weapons fired from near Jupiter's orbit. Huge chunks of the south Atlantic, Antarctica, South America, and the southern part of North America would be in range of the incoming rounds. Nobody knew what would happen if there was a multi-megaton plasma detonation in Antarctica, and nobody wanted to find out. But essentially there was nothing anybody could do to stop it. West suggested that a notification be put out over the Emergency Broadcast System, but the White House refused. Since nobody knew where the bolts would hit, it was decided that warning everyone would create more panic than it would save lives.

But nobody could conceal mushroom clouds growing in the skies over the Amazon jungle… the Caribbean off of Cuba's coast… the Gulf of Mexico… off the coast of Oregon. Or hide the tidal waves destroying parts of cities along the coast… St. Petersburg… New Orleans… Brownsville… finally Portland. Or pretend that a hundred thousand people hadn't been drowned, or that a third of the U.S. oil production platforms hadn't just been wiped out, all by parties the government refused to identify. As Carter had warned, it was still 'pretty bad.'


	18. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

**Far Beyond Normal**

**Chapter Seventeen**

Three days later Buffy still hadn't left the mountain, those in command wanting her to stick around until they were certain the enemy wasn't coming back. It seemed that everyone was working hard except her; yet she was treated like the Veriest of Very Important People by everyone she met. Only the SGC and the few dozen people who had been in the War Room at the time of the attack knew what she had done; but _everyone_ knew she had immediate, unrestricted access to the most powerful Generals in the facility, and had heard the story of Kerrigan being willing to offend State Security rather than anger her. Between her assumed clout and obvious attractiveness she was the subject of considerable speculation throughout all five military bases around Colorado Springs.

The interest was reason enough for her not to leave the mountain. Nobody outside a privileged few knew what had happened, who had attacked them, or how, but speculation was rampant. After the terrorist attacks four years earlier people were nervous, frightened, and out for blood. The media hadn't been informed of the speculation going on within military ranks concerning Buffy's possible contribution to the event, but given the amount of 'noise' on the subject it was only a matter of time. Her employers were agreeably surprised when Buffy accepted their suggestion to temporarily lie low until the rumors settled down.

Since most of the people on the SGC levels knew who and what she was, Buffy wasn't treated any different there than she had been since signing up. She watched a lot of television, and some of the civilian experts working on the project passed along documents and reports concerning the situation they thought she might find of interest. It was only when she went up to the NORAD levels, where most of the people knew her only as a 'civilian consultant,' that she realized how intense was the speculation surrounding her presence. Not just among the military either. One of the reports she was given made it clear that the NID was even more interested in her than was the population at large. Given that there was a Presidential order forbidding them from entering the Mountain they couldn't touch her directly; but there was round-the-clock surveillance placed on her mother, and a massive effort being put into discovering exactly how the SGC had managed to get their hands on a copy of her interrogation dossier.

It was the latter issue which concerned Buffy the most. Nobody in their right mind was going to touch her mom; even the NID had to know that if they touched her, the gloves came off, and Buffy went nuclear. But they had every legal right to investigate the security breach in their own domain. They could claim it was irrelevant that what the document described was illegal and a disgrace; the release of _any_ secure documents from their secure archive was a breach of national security. When a concerned Buffy brought up the subject with Hammond, he had Carter look into it during her non-existent spare time, and her quick lecture frightened Buffy even more.

They were in the older woman's lab when Carter punched up a few documents on her monitor. "I'm not a hacker. It takes a different mind-set, an attitude I don't possess to become good at breaking into protected systems. If I was asked to investigate who was able to penetrate the NID database I'd first compile a list of all the people who had the technical skill, and then ignore those who didn't have the aptitude." On the monitor, a long list of names abruptly grew much shorter. "Then I'd get rid of those who didn't have the resources to do it." Three quarters of the remaining names disappeared. "The NID doesn't use Unix on their mainframe. They use a highly-modified version of ADA as their programming language, for security purposes. Not many people are familiar with it…" more names were deleted "…and only those with expertise in scripting in that language need to be considered, since it would take a lot more than basic familiarity to pull off something like this." After she clicked a few more buttons, obviously having long since investigated the break-in, only a half dozen name remained. Willow's name was prominent among them.

Not even watching the monitor, Carter manipulated buttons without taking her eyes from Buffy. "I know two of these people didn't do it, simply because they have tried to penetrate those computers for us in the past, and failed." Their names dropped off the screen. "One is in jail." Only three names remained. "And two of them are major pains in the ass who would publish anything they uncovered on the Smoking Gun website if they ever managed to pull something like this off." At that point only Willow's name was left on the screen. Buffy gulped on a dry throat as Carter looked at her with eyes notably lacking in sympathy. "I could use a different set of assumptions and reach a similar conclusion. This is a very specialized field, and there wouldn't have been too options available to you. Even discounting other considerations, Miss Rosenberg's name would stick out like a sore thumb."

After a few long minutes of silence, Buffy met her eyes. "Any suggestions?"

Carter shrugged. "Breaking into government computers is a federal offence."

That wasn't what Buffy wanted to hear, and irritation quickly overcame concern, sharpening her thought processes. "I've noticed that a lot in your world. It's okay-fine to do something sleazy. The real punishment is reserved for anyone who lets people know when something sleazy is being done."

Shrugging to show she wasn't interested in arguing the matter, Carter simply pointed out that regardless of her motives, the law was the law. Had things been different she would have been happy to discuss the issue, but Carter knew the girl was still extremely bitter over what had happened to her at the hands of the NID. The last thing she wanted was to become a target for that barely-leashed anger. Especially when she would have to be the one arguing in favor of abiding by rules which had somehow been twisted to permit Buffy to be tortured by her own government. Sam wasn't sure if it was wise to wait until the Slayer indicated that she was willing to talk about the issue rather than simply venting her rage whenever it was brought up. But the psychiatrists were looking for a way to get the girl to deal with what had happened, and hopefully to move beyond it, but until they saw some sign that she was willing to do so their orders were clear.

Annoyed by the prim statement, not to mention the fact that she wasn't going to get a chance to vent, Buffy looked around the lab while considering her options. She didn't like Carter's lab… it was too neat, too obsessively regimented for her taste. Even the papers on her desk were neatly stacked and itemized. Granted that a workaholic like Sam would need a system to keep her many and varied interests separated, but Buffy herself preferred the casual messiness of Dr. Jackson's office, with its stacks of books and paper-strewn surfaces. It reminded her of Giles… which wasn't something she wanted to think too much about, missing her mentor so much it hurt. Especially at times like this. But right now he was the last person she wanted to see, given her state of mind and the non-trivial fact that he didn't even know her in this universe. But Willow knew her, and there was no damned way she would let anyone threaten Willow. "Do you think you can get me the plans to the prison they'll take her to, so it'll be easier for me to break her out?"

She smiled, enjoying the older woman's frown, sort of pretending she was joking, both knowing she meant every word of the threat. Carter was trying to be sympathetic, but she was getting a bit irritated with her attitude. "You can't ignore the law when you find it inconvenient, Buffy. Isn't that your main complaint concerning our government? If you do the same thing, it makes you a bit of a hypocrite."

The accusation struck home, and Buffy dropped her smile. As well as her dumb blonde act. It didn't work on Carter anyway. "I'm not going to play by the rules if no one else is. What was it your psyche profile on me said? I've got 'an almost pathological need to protect my friends and family.' If you think I'm going to let Willow get burned for helping me, then you don't know me at all."

Carter gave the small girl a hard look, but Buffy met it without the slightest hint of budging. Not that she had expected there would be. There had been considerable discussion on their new employees' penchant for ignoring the rules when it suited her, for assuming she was a law unto herself. Given her Slayer background it was understandable. For much of her life she literally _had_ been the law, one far more effective and essential than the police department, if her claims were anywhere close to being true. But her attitude had the potential to cause considerable difficulty in the structured environment of the SGC, especially as she came to understand just how critical her cooperation was becoming to their future plans. The SGC was a _team_, but Buffy had been operating as a lone wolf for a long time. There had been some discussion as to how they could make her feel welcome, and part of their team, without allowing her to run roughshod over the regulations and discipline which the organization required to function effectively. But they also had to be careful not to smother her in a straight-jacket of rules she found so confining she would one day quit just to escape.

No one doubted for an instant that she would just walk away if she felt unappreciated or needlessly restrained. Hammond had instinctively known what a dozen psychologists had taken hundred-page reports to declare; Buffy considered herself to be a hero, and wanted to be treated as one. More importantly, she would _act_ like one under most circumstances. But she was also a young, spoiled girl, used to getting her own way, who would instinctively rebel against military discipline. She had been quite happy to tell them about the Watcher Council, her contempt for them obvious, her pride in firing them an object lesson which the SGC had been very careful to factor into all their calculations when dealing with their new asset. There were officers who acted just like their counterparts on the Watchers Council in order to maintain control over particularly troublesome underlings with special talents. Opinion was universal that attempting to use such methods to control Buffy was not just doomed to failure, but almost certain to lead to a disastrous confrontation.

Carter was concerned that the NID would fail to take that last point into account when dealing with Buffy, and might attempt to use her mother as a hostage to her good behavior. She had no doubt they would fail were they ever to make the attempt. Despite her youth, the girl had effectively been under continuous combat operations since she was fifteen years old, and would know what to do given a hostage situation. The probable consequences should any harm befall such a hostage boggled the mind. Even at the best of times the Slayer was extraordinarily dangerous. What she was capable of doing while in a murderous rage was not something Carter wanted to witness. And given her emotional state, it would take very little to push the girl into doing things that could not be undone.

That would be a disaster in more ways than one. It was obvious to them all that they needed the girl a lot more than she needed them. But that was true with a lot of the people who worked for the SGC, including Carter herself. Many of them could be induced to stay for reasons of patriotism, but thanks to the never-sufficiently-damned NID, that option was not available when it came to the Slayer. Others could be bribed the old fashioned way; by being paid a lot of money. They tried that one with Buffy as well, hoping that she'd become accustomed to having plenty of cash so reluctant to quit a job which provided it. They had unfortunately noted that during her one shopping expedition she hadn't over-indulged. She hadn't been exactly frugal, but had come across as someone who understood the value of money. A third option was the one they used on Carter. Sam knew that everyone would be much happier if she didn't risk herself going on off-world missions. But that was what _she_ wanted to do, so to keep her happy they indulged her adventuresome spirit, and probably crossed their fingers every time she stepped through the 'Gate. The Command Team was desperately hoping things would calm down and permit them to give Buffy a few trips off-world, to see if that would capture her interest.

In the meantime, there were other ways of dealing with people who considered themselves heroes. To a hero, a 'bribe' did not necessarily mean money. Sometimes it meant being able to take care of their friends. "I could talk to the General about offering her a job at the SGC, I suppose." The offer was made casually, tentatively, as if they had not been watching Willow Rosenberg for years, had held off bringing her in earlier only because their contacts as MIT had been concerned that her overwhelming shyness would make her too easily pushed around by some of the more opinionated staff on the project. Only a few week before they had been informed that the girl had suddenly, unexpectedly grown a backbone, had appeared to come into her own both personally and professionally. It was only when the SGC's psychological team had put two and two together that they realized how much the Slayer had played a part in Rosenberg's flowering.

Seeing the smile suddenly blossom on Buffy's face at the offer, Carter realized they had come up with the proper strategy to deal with her. During her interviews and psychological evaluation Buffy had never brought up the names of the people who worked with her in the alternate universe she originally came from. But it was now pretty obvious who at least one of her compatriots had been. Choosing someone of Rosenberg's credentials indicated pretty smart personnel selection on her part. Having her working at the SGC would also bind Buffy further to them, which was crucial even if Rosenberg hadn't been useful in her own right. Carter had been having some problems with a few of the senior IT people. Having someone with Rosenberg's demonstrated talents available would certainly come in handy if she wanted to work around their obstinate roadblocks. It would be even easier if she had really grown a backbone, like the reports were suggesting. But even if she hadn't, being able to call on a Slayer to resolve any issues with less competent but 'pushier' colleagues would certainly come in handy.

Imaging a scene with Buffy coming to the aid of her friend when she was being belittled by a particularly loathsome IT manager was bringing a secret smile to Carter's face when her daydream was interrupted by the claxon indicating an incoming wormhole. Knowing the alarm wouldn't have sounded if it was an expected inbound team, both she and Buffy immediately rushed to the Gate control room, careful to stay out of the way of the armed troops rushing into the Gateroom itself. Hammond was already there, ordering the iris shut, but Sergeant Harriman was unable to comply with the order. "I'm getting a remote override! The iris will not respond! No incoming GDO signal… but… Sir, this seems to be an Asgard protocol!"

The troops didn't stand down, but everyone relaxed slightly. It was well known that the Asgard were so technologically advanced they could make any merely-human device stand up and whistle, if that was what they wanted it to do. Fortunately, they were allies. And they didn't need no stinkin' GDO to open the damned Gate if they wanted it open. The familiar wormhole formed in the 'Gate –a giggling Buffy noted again that it looked like a toilet flushing sideways, as if she was the first person ever to note the resemblance—and everyone stood down as Thor's familiar presence walked through and the wormhole dissolved. Buffy stared in open-mouthed astonishment at the tiny, big-eyed, grey-skinned alien, never having seen one of the Asgard before, and wishing Xander were around to witness the visitation.

She remained in the control room as the General and his closest advisors went down to welcome their guest. Since the speakers were on, she was able to listen in as they welcomed Thor to Earth. The small alien's voice was surprisingly deep, very precise, and even though they didn't sound anything like each other, it reminded Buffy of Dr. Jackson for some reason. He even held out his hand to be shaken in a gesture obviously copied from humanity. "It is good to be here again, General Hammond. It is particularly satisfying to see that the recent Goa'uld invasion attempt was unsuccessful. I extend the condolences of the Asgard to those victims who did not survive the attack, and wish there were some way we might have been able to respond earlier. However our struggle with the Replicators leaves us desperately short of resources, and unable to offer the protections once expected of us. Fortunately, in this case it appears that you have managed to not just survive this potential calamity, but to stave off a powerful Goa'uld invasion fleet. An extraordinarily impressive achievement."

Everyone smiled. Impressing the Asgard wasn't easy, and was high on the list of SGC priorities. They were Earth's most powerful ally, and if humanity wanted to be taken as a serious player, the Asgard needed to know they could rely on Earth to stand on its own, and not just be a defenseless victim needing to be saved. Soon the group left the room, heading off towards the conference room where they could go over recent events in detail. Buffy didn't wander far from the control room, figuring she'd be called in sooner or later, but it turned out to be more later than sooner as more than forty minutes passed before an airman came up and requested her presence. Even though she knew an alien wouldn't care, Buffy instinctively checked her hair and makeup before knocking on the door and entering.

The small alien was studying her from the moment she walked in. Its dark eyes were extraordinarily huge; Buffy wondered if it was nocturnal, or lived underground. Its movements were surprisingly graceful considering how thin its arms were. Push came to shove, Buffy figured she could take it. She didn't necessarily intend to fight it; that was the way Buffy assessed almost everyone she met for the first time. From the way its eyes blinked, she figured the alien knew exactly what she was thinking, so Buffy was careful to stay back and not crowd it, making no threatening moves when she was introduced. Most people wouldn't have understood, but the soldiers in the room knew what was happening, and O'Neill spoke up to reassure his alien friend. "Its okay, Thor. She doesn't bite. We've even got her potty trained." Which, as intended, got him a hard glare from the Slayer, causing him to smile and make a triumphant '_2-points_!' gesture.

Despite what they all were assuming, Thor hadn't been afraid. He was astonished. His kind had built rockets before humanity's ancestors left the trees, and had evolved senses the younger race hadn't dreamed of. He knew he was looking at something impossible. "I bid you greetings, Buffy Summers. I apologize for my reaction. You are not what I expected. Although your abilities were mentioned by my friends O'Neill and Carter, I found it difficult to believe they spoke the truth. Not because they have ever lied to me, but because I could not understand how such things were possible. I would beg your indulgence, and ask that you tell me the story of how you came to be here, in our universe, in your own words. This is very important. I would ask that you leave nothing out."

After getting not-so-subtle signals from Hammond to do what the alien asked, Buffy explained what had happened to her. The alien demanded more details than she had provided the SGC, forcing her to explain the nature of Slayers and the First. In the end she told it everything except Dawn's true nature, which she did not intend to tell anyone, ever. When it ran out of questions the alien brought up a black oval-shaped object cupped in its palm –the grey dude was naked and hadn't been carrying anything, so she had no idea where it got the thing—and it glowed from within as he waved it around her. With no facial muscles there was no way to tell from its expression what the black glowy-thing was telling it, but he waved it around for quite awhile before he lowered his hand, and it wasn't there when she next saw his palm.

"This is very unusual. Very unexpected. General Hammond, Miss Summers, I would like to request that you accompany me back to the Asgard homeworld for further tests." Buffy looked over at the portly general, who was doing everything but tap-dance in his effort to silently plead with her to accept the invitation. She was surprised. They were well aware of her feelings for the government, and she had assumed they would want to keep her from expressing her opinion of them from the Asgard. But apparently there was more going on behind the scenes in their dealings with the little aliens than she knew about. Which was fortunate, because she _really_ wanted to go with it. She was getting a bit stir-crazy sitting in the mountain, but she hadn't wanted to raise her already-too-high profile by running into town and being recognized.

Just in case she wasn't getting the hint, O'Neill spoke to his alien buddy. "It might help if you offered her a present. Chocolate maybe. Or something pretty. She likes pretty things."

Glaring at him, Buffy countered with a different idea. "Can I take a camera?" She wanted pictures to show Xander, but the way the others in the room practically salivated at hearing the request –one they would never have made, it being a diplomatic faux-pas only she would have been able to get away with—made it pretty clear any pictures she brought back would be classified and never be seen by merely mortal men. When Thor agreed to the request a digital camera was produced from somewhere, and Buffy suddenly realized the trip was to begin immediately, not at some nebulous time in the future. It was only then that it finally dawned on her what she had agreed to. She would be leaving, traveling to another _planet_, for who knew how long, without extra clothes, shoes, hairdryers, toilet paper –she didn't see any plumbing on the alien's body which would require his race to have toilet paper on hand—not to mention a stake or two. She had a firm policy of never going anywhere without a least a stake. Not that she expected to run into a bunch of little grey alien vampires, but better safe than sorry.

It appeared, however, that she wasn't being given much say in the matter. Thor wanted to return home immediately, so someone ran down and filled a backpack with whatever was in Buffy's locker, which along with the camera was her entire luggage when entered the gateroom and the small alien did something to engage the StarGate. She had been casually informed that Thor's homeworld was actually in another galaxy, and their on-site nuclear reactor didn't produce enough energy to engage a 'Gate so far away. Somehow Thor was able to do it, with practically no drain on the Earth-side power supply. Carter was practically gnashing her teeth in frustration at her inability to figure out how they did it.

Buffy herself was a bit nervous that her first trip through the Gate would be one so far. Intellectually she understood that the distances involved in any trip through the Gate were so vast the human mind could barely comprehend. Going any further was just more zeroes added to a number already so huge there was no basis for comparison on a human scale. As she followed the small alien Buffy contemplated the distance she would be traveling, muttering to herself "How many zeroes are there in a Brazilian?" Normally 'dumb blonde' jokes irritated the hell out of her, and being irritated was far preferable to being absolutely terrified at the thought of stepping into a shimmering mercury-like pool, allowing her molecules to be ripped apart, and hopefully put back together again on the other side. Just before stepping into the Gate she had a sudden thought that the Slayer part of her wouldn't be recognized by whatever mechanism operated the transfer process, that her demon half would be left behind as she passed through…

By the time she processed the thought it was too late. She was inside the wormhole, somehow 'aware' of what was happening despite not having a body to be aware of anything with, almost whip-lashed by the speed and wildly gyrating path her consciousness was traveling through space, stars and vast gas clouds whipping by almost too quickly to be seen. Finally, after a wild roller-coaster ride that seemed to last minutes –but she couldn't have said how many minutes—she walked out on the other side of the 'Gate, feeling light-headed and exhilarated, senses overwhelmed with the confused certainty that she was on an alien world. Everything was different from what her phenomenally accurate senses considered 'normal.' Gravity was slightly low. Air pressure high. Oxygen content high. Smells confusing, some unrecognizable. Inner ear popping.

She was still a Slayer, and the Slayer part of her knew something fundamental was wrong.

Fortunately, the Asgard had suspected she might react that way, more like a frightened predator than a human, so only a few were present, and they were very careful to remain well away from her without making any threatening gestures. Within a few seconds Buffy had gained control, and was equally careful to be just as non-threatening when she was introduced. The human part of her knew damned well that a race as advanced as the Asgard would have many protective devices in place that her senses could never detect, knew that a merely physical threat would have been doomed to failure. She wanted them to know that while she understood their concern, _she_ controlled the slayer, not the reverse. Unfortunately their lack of facial expression made it difficult to tell if she succeeded.

They shook hands in the human way, even spoke to her in English. But she knew they were doing more than she could see. Remembering her own experience with telepathy made her absolutely certain they were discussing vastly more amongst the four of them in ways she couldn't perceive. For a few seconds she wondered if their version of telepathy was natural or a technical innovation, like a ultra-sophisticated version of a cell phone, before she realized there was nothing preventing her from just asking. So she did. As she had expected, and not the way she feared, they were not offended. One of the greeters answered. "Both. It is a natural faculty we have extensively modified to be both more secure and more controllable."

With that out of the way she was invited to leave their version of a Gate room. Soon they were walking along a corridor near the base of a huge multi-storied building, the enclosed space between adjoining buildings filled with greenery, water, and thousands of aliens. Well, Asgard, Buffy admitted, since she would be the 'alien' given that it was their planet. The roof, hundreds of meters above, was transparent like glass, sunlight shining through at what she considered normal brightness. "This isn't your original home world then?" When one of the little grey creatures –they all looked pretty much the same to her, although she wasn't so impolite as to say so—asked her how she had come to that conclusion, Buffy indicated their eyes. "It's a little bright for people who evolved with those eyes. I figure you see more into the infrared, less towards the violet than me. I've hunted demons like that; tunnel-dwellers, a real pain to…" Abruptly recalling that she was trying to not come across as threatening, she dropped the topic. Too late, of course.

Despite her _faux-pas_, her hosts weren't upset. "You are correct. The planet we originally evolved upon has been overrun by the Replicators. The main star of the system was both smaller and redder than your own sun. We settled this particular planet many thousands of your years ago, however, so it would be somewhat imprecise to call it merely a 'colony.'" Buffy continued walking, excited and enjoying herself immensely. She had come to the conclusion that the Asgard weren't going to be offended if she said something stupid, and since she knew it was a virtual certainty she would sooner or later say something stupid it was nice not to have to worry about getting shot for it.

Once they left the building the architecture grew even more amazing. The Asgard were into spires in a big way; most of their structures were conical, rising to points, but interrupted frequently by protrusions and balconies. Buffy had seen enough of her father's drawings –may the miserable bastard rot in hell, she silently grumbled to herself—to recognize the technical brilliance and engineering talent that went into them, but in a way she was… well, disappointed. The Asgard were many thousands of years ahead of Earth, technologically speaking, but the city, despite its creativity and beauty, wasn't _that_ much more sophisticated than her people could build. Hoping she wasn't going to offend, Buffy tried to express her impression of their city. "It's beautiful, but somehow I expected, I don't know, _more_. You guys have anti-gravity, super-strong materials, unlimited energy, even weather control. If we had all that, well, I dunno what we'd do with it, but I kinda think with some real imagination, we could…"

She let the statement hang, and knew the four guys in her escort were 'saying' whole lot she wasn't able to hear, so she let them discuss it silently as she took a few pictures of the gorgeous view. It really was spectacular, but given similar resources, her father –may his gonads turn black and rot off, she silently grumbled to herself—could have designed something better in his sleep. After letting her take a few shots, one of the group spoke. "Most of what you see is very old. It was built several thousand of your years ago, for a much larger population than currently inhabits the city. However the infrastructure is intact and fully functional. Our own, contemporary improvements cannot be seen with your human senses. Like our version of telepathy, we have incorporated sensory enhancements which permit us to 'see' and otherwise appreciate non-functional artistic displays your own senses cannot perceive."

It pointed towards an open park, multi-colored flowers growing in neat arrangements among pools of flowing water, brilliant vines flowing down from surrounding buildings. "You have already noted the absence of monuments, or decorative artworks…" Buffy had noticed that, in fact. As the daughter of an architect, even one who was a bastard –may he develop AIDS, cancer, and toe fungus, she silently grumbled to herself—she was genetically incapable of not noticing such features. Or their absence. But the Asgard was continuing his explanation. "Such things are actually present, only they are designed in such a manner as to be beyond your sensory perception. We see patterns of energy, gravitational vortexes, structured shifts in light and space everywhere we look, some thousands of meters tall, the work of artistic genius extending back a hundred generations. It is unfortunate you cannot witness what we see."

Looking around with more-than-human senses, Buffy saw nothing of what he described. She figured if there was a 'gravitational vortex' nearby, she'd notice it. But nothing. Confused, she looked at the aliens, who were observing her with their usual impassive expressions. "Are they 'real,' or kind of 'virtual' creations psychically projected into your brains?"

It was a good question, but the answer wasn't nearly so clear. "Both. Neither. Your perception of reality is somewhat limited, Buffy Summers. As a Slayer you are aware of worlds and realities others of your kind cannot or will not comprehend. Our 'art' is a similar manifestation of an extended reality."

Scowling at him –_it_?—in confusion, Buffy wondered if this was a test. Probably. It usually was with the smart ones. "People can see the reality I deal with once it's pointed out. Mostly they just don't want to see it. I'm looking real hard here, and I don't see squat."

So far as she could tell neither offended nor amused, the alien gestured for her to continue walking. "Even our preliminary tests on you demonstrate an unusual aptitude for what we might call 'awareness,' a resistance to an imposed 'artificial' reality. I would expect you would have come across instances where you were unable to see, or saw through, a false imposition of space/time which other humans accepted as genuine." Remembering her gradual realization that Dawn wasn't 'really' her sister, and Jonathan wasn't 'really' a superhero/spy/actor/surgeon/ etcetera when everyone else thought both were true, Buffy settled for nodding at the alien. It was a human gesture, but one he understood. "Most humans would not see our art either, but for a different reason. Their senses are not designed to process the distortions in reality we create for purposes of artistic expression. You might be able to sense it, but as the Slayer you are limited to a 'ground truth' reality so would instinctively dismiss the imposition of a 'false,' _imposed_ reality, even when its purpose is benign."

There was something important going on. Not for the first time, Buffy wished she was smarter, wished she understood some of the things she had to deal with. The Asgard were doing everything except use flashcards to make her understand something, but she just wasn't getting it. She hated feeling dumb. "If there's no way for me to sense it, then how can it be real? Yeah, I know the whole 'If a tree falls in a forest and nobody hears it; does it make a sound?' philosophical debate. It's one of those things where it depends on what your definition of 'is' is. More of a semantic issue than anything…"

For the first time one of the aliens interrupted her. "No. This is _not_ a question of semantics. This is a matter of _perception_, of your ability to comprehend the nature of the space and time in which you exist. You are able to perceive more than most humans, but less than ourselves. We, in turn, are severely limited in the scope of our senses compared to an entity such as the First. At the level of such a being the nature of space and time and 'reality' itself is so far beyond our ability to understand that to perception-limited beings such as ourselves, it is as if it does not exist. And yet, just as is the case with our art, despite all your senses might tell you, the art is, nonetheless, real."

Buffy shot the alien a hard look, which it met with its usual equanimity. Her mind was flashing at warp speed however, finally seeing the point they were trying to make. She had kinda/sorta assumed they were interested in the Slayer. It now appeared that given their own problems, and the fact that the Slayer wasn't a threat, she was actually far down their list of priorities. It was the _First_ they were interested in. "I've _seen_ the First. The _real_ First, the reality it sees, the way it perceives the universe. When I was… dying… we somehow connected. It went out of its way to make sure I saw what it was doing, how it had tricked me, how far its ambitions reached. You don't want to mess with the First."

"No. _We_ don't. But _someone_ does, because _you_ are _here_. And that someone went to considerable effort to ensure that no one would know you were here. Not even the First."

All of the aliens were looking at her. In fact, Buffy was stunned to realize that all of the Asgard in sight –thousands of them, on hundreds of walkways around the park, on various levels and balconies of the towering spires above them—were _all_ staring at her. Studying her. Not threateningly. But the way a scientist would study a frog that suddenly stood up and sang show tunes. Like they couldn't believe what they were seeing. "The First thinks I'm dead."

"The First _knows_ that you are dead. The First devoted enormous resources to ensuring that you were killed. The First's senses extend across dimensions, throughout space and time, and it used all of those abilities to verify that you were, in fact, truly dead. Like yourself, it would have noticed an imposed, false reality were anyone to resurrect you using the imposition matrix you would call 'magic.' All such magic, by its very nature, is an artificial construct on a fundamental underlying reality. Your 'death' was a part of that reality. For you to be resurrected without the First noticing had to be similarly 'real,' without any imposed --and therefore detectable-- distortion upon the fabric of reality."

Buffy shivered, even though it wasn't cold, as she finally understood. "Elizabeth Summers was psychic…"

A different alien took up the lecture when she paused. "Elizabeth Summers _is_ psychic. _You are Elizabeth Summers_. Buffy Summers is dead. I am surprised you did not notice that the psychiatric hospital where Elizabeth had been confined was located precisely atop the location of the Hellmouth in Buffy Summers' world. To a psychic of Elizabeth's power, the connection with Buffy would have been overwhelming. Particularly when Buffy died while physically present inside the Hellmouth itself. But the connection would also have been _natural_. No external, imposed distortion on the natural order was required for you to appear in this space-and-time. All that was required was a connection which already existed. When Buffy died, Elizabeth simply _became_ Buffy. For all her _psychic_ power, Elizabeth would have been unable to withstand Buffy's vastly superior strength of will, her commitment to her cause, her desire to survive."

Buffy was horrified at the implications. "I killed her…"

"No. What happened was _natural_, was meant to be. Semantically, in the context you are implying, 'killing' her would involve intent. You had no more choice than a snowflake 'chooses' to melt in the sun, than a leaf 'chooses' to fall from a tree. What is, is. There was no intent. It is problematic who died in any event. In the fundamental reality the First examined so carefully afterwards, it was Buffy Summers who ceased to exist, except to provide a physical host for itself."

"But I _am_ Buffy Summers!"

"You _think_ you are Buffy Summers. You remember _being_ Buffy Summers. All of your senses report that you _are_ Buffy Summers. However, a more valid case could be made that despite your feelings, you are, in fact, _Elizabeth_ Summers. Here we run into the limits on our perception of reality. You are who you are. What happened was a natural consequence of the fundamental underlying nature of space and time, of the inherent abilities of both Buffy and Elizabeth Summers. Given that no one 'made' this happen with deliberate intent, you are free to choose your own identity. Either decision you make is equally valid. However, as far as the First is concerned, Buffy Summers is dead."

None of the thousands of Asgard standing silently moved, observing the events unfold. They weren't adapting human mannerisms, the way those of their kind who visited Earth normally did. These were _aliens_; occasionally blinking, unmoving, the sensation of their telepathic communication so overpowering as to be almost palpable. Buffy was creeped out by them, by what she was hearing, by the thought that her entire life was a lie. "I don't remember Elizabeth…"

"You remember almost everything that was Elizabeth. The vast majority of her memories are also Buffy's. Had events continued naturally, once the Hellmouth was closed, Elizabeth would have gradually recovered, would have integrated her own memories into those of the imposed, dominant, 'Buffy' personality. She would have considered herself to _be_ Buffy, but over time the memories of her experiences as a Slayer would be suppressed due to the reality of dealing with what would have inevitably been a mundane new life."

"But I _am_ the Slayer!"

"Yes. As we stated earlier, someone interfered. Someone extraordinarily powerful. Someone who waited until the First had the time to verify that Buffy Summers was, in fact, dead, and only _then_ altered the fundamental reality which permitted you to assume the powers of a Slayer. Recall that in our reality --the mathematical order which underlies the unique physical rules of the universe you now inhabit—a being such as the Slayer is impossible. It is a creature of 'magic,' and cannot ordinarily exist unless as a deliberately imposed distortion upon the underlying reality matrix.

"It now appears that someone altered our very perception as to what constitutes fundamental reality, so if the First ever looked again, it would seem the way things are _now_ is the way thing have always been, the way they were _meant_ to be. This change affected not just the natural base reality of this entire universe; it affected everything which _measures_ the natural base reality of this entire universe. The way things are _now_ –a natural order which permits a Slayer to exist in this space and time— has simply become the way things were meant to be. The energy it would have taken to affect this change is almost incalculable. It would have taken more power than a million stars such as your sun produce throughout its entire lifespan to be able to affect such a fundamental change upon such a vast scale.

"It would have taken the power of a God."

Buffy had already assumed that the Powers That Be had gotten involved, had been the ones to bring her back. The Asgard's description as to how they'd done it was more complicated than her own assumption –she figured they'd snapped their fingers, and Stuff Happened—but didn't change the results. "I already knew –well, _suspected_—that the Powers That Be brought me back to fight the First."

Thousands of alien eyes blinked almost as one at her statement. She already knew they were a lot smarter than her, and were probably shocked that she wanted a rematch with the First. Being smarter, they were probably even more aware than she was as to how much of a mismatch it was, fighting way above her weight class when contemplating taking on a being so powerful. They just didn't understand that insignificant as she was, no one else stronger seemed willing to volunteer to step up to the plate.

One of the aliens was impolitic enough to being up an obvious shortcoming in her plans. "I would be very interested in hearing as to how you intend to fight the First. The beings who brought the Slayer to our universe –those you call the Powers That Be—did so furtively, hiding their efforts from the First. Logically, this means they feared its wrath should the First discover their machinations. Therefore, extending our logical assumptions, beings so powerful they can impose changes requiring energies on a cosmic scale, are themselves _afraid of the First_. Concordantly, it would take energies vastly greater still to actually _defeat_ the First. In the entire universe, there is no such source of power. There is quite simply nothing in existence sufficiently powerful to defeat the First."

Closing her eyes in pain, knowing that everything in her entire life had been leading to this moment, Buffy silently begged forgiveness, and spoke quietly. "Yes there is."

All of the Asgard were now watching her. Not just those she could see; all of them, everywhere, psychically connected to this one place and time. But only one of them spoke to her. "I would be very interested in learning of the existence of a power source more powerful than any known of by the Asgard, the Ancients, or the Gods themselves."

Desperately praying she wasn't making a horrible mistake, Buffy spoke words she had promised herself she would never say. "The Key."


	19. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

**Far Beyond Normal**

**Chapter Eighteen**

When a full week passed with no sign of Buffy's return, the SGC command staff started to get a bit concerned. The scientific and material resources the Asgard could bring to bear on any problem were so vast that the SCG had never even heard of anything they couldn't figure out in a day or two. O'Neill was quite outspoken with his certainty that Buffy had probably caused so much mayhem and destruction when the poor unwitting Asgard had let her loose on their planet that they were likely rebuilding their 'Gate from scratch in a desperate effort to send her back and free themselves from her presence. Privately, even he was wondering what was happening, but was just as happy that she was far from Earth. Events outside the mountain were not going well.

Turning off the television when the alarm came over warning of an unscheduled incoming wormhole, O'Neill tried to put aside the images of massive riots in Houston being shown on CNN. Ever since the Attack, as the media always capitalized the word, there had been rioting in a lot of cities. People were scared, and they were freaking out. Glad for the distraction, O'Neill made his way to the 'Gate control room, watching armed troops rush in as a small tour group of new hires was swiftly moved beyond the blast doors. Glancing down at Merriman, O'Neill had to shout to be heard over the claxon. "What have you got, Walter?"

"Signal coming though now, sir. It appears to be from the Asgard!"

They gave each other equally surprised looks that the Asgard would actually identify themselves rather than simply override the SGC safety protocols, but the code seemed legit, so O'Neill ordered the iris opened. When Hammond arrived a few seconds later they brought him up to speed, and when the General didn't countermand the order they both moved down the metal stairs to enter the 'Gate room itself. The alarm turned off just as the loud 'Whoosh!' sound of an incoming wormhole formed, quickly stabilizing. A second later Buffy casually walked through.

"Damn. I was hoping they'd keep her." As intended, the casual insult was overheard, and Buffy gave O'Neill the finger along with a quick smile as she waited for someone else to follow her through the 'Gate. Not at all insulted, O'Neill swallowed his own amused grin when he realized that the small grey alien who followed Buffy through the 'Gate wasn't Thor. He raised an eyebrow towards Buffy, and she got the hint and made the introductions. "General Hammond, Colonel O'Neill, this is Sif. She works with Thor. Actually, he kinda works _for_ her. Be nice."

Both men were careful to conceal their frowns. Thor commanded the Asgard fleet. Given that the Asgard were up to their nonexistent ears in a war even more brutal than the one facing Earth, there weren't a lot of aliens higher up their chain of command than Thor. It had also seemed that it was a matter of deliberate Asgard policy to route all Earth-related activities through Thor. Both wondered what they had uncovered about Buffy that had caused the Asgard to change their long-standing practice, but neither brought it up as handshakes were offered and accepted. Unaware of the implications of her companion's presence, Buffy blithely chatted on during the introductions. "I think he's sweet on her though."

The alien looked up at her grinning face, expressionless as always, but both men got the impression that if it could have blushed, the Asgard would have. "We reproduce by cloning, Miss Summers. My kind have not engaged in… that sort of activity… for thousands of years."

A triumphant –and surprisingly perceptive—gleam noticeable in her expression, Buffy shrugged aside the comment. "Yet you're still a 'she,' and he's still a 'he,' and even if you can't _do_ anything about it, you guys know the difference. _Especially_ you two, I should point out! The things I saw you guys doing when nobody else was watching… well, okay, it wasn't quite groping in the closet, but don't try to tell _me_ it was all business…"

O'Neill had never seen an embarrassed Asgard before. He was seeing one now, as the alien almost squirmed. "Miss Summers, I assure you…"

Whatever she would have tried to assure them about would never be known, because at that point the group of new hires who had been rushed out of the 'Gate room when the alert sounded had been permitted to return, the rare chance to see an Asgard not to be missed, and Buffy recognized one of their faces. "_Willow_!"

All else forgotten, Buffy rushed down the ramp and wrapped a smiling Willow in a big hug, delighted that Carter had come through with her offer to bring her friend into the project. The six other newcomers watched jealously as Buffy introduced the redhead to the two men in charge of the entire facility, and an actual alien being as well. Not surprisingly Willow was both awed and excited to meet an Asgard, but by that point aliens were far less interesting to Buffy than catching up with the events in her friend's life since they parted. Looking down at Sif, Buffy asked the alien if she needed her presence at the upcoming meeting, or if they would mind if she excused herself for the vastly more important purpose of catching up on gossip. She even put the question in exactly those words.

The alien did not seemed to be especially crushed by the thought of Buffy preferring to skip out on it's discussions with the SGC leadership. "You are free to leave. I shall attempt to restrain my licentious nature during your absence, despite being surrounded by males of your species."

Frowning, Buffy looked over at O'Neill. "That sounded like sarcasm. I didn't know the Asgard could do sarcasm. Did you know they could be sarcastic?"

When O'Neill shook his head negatively, Sif spoke up. "Seven days in your presence was more than sufficient to train us all on the subject, Miss Summers."

"Yup. That was sarcasm. Watch out for her, guys. She's a quick one." With a final nod Buffy grabbed Willow's arm and led her from the room, leaving the poor girl to shrug her shoulders in apology to the man who had been escorting the group around the facility. The new hires had been given explicit instructions not to leave the group, not to wander off, not to get in the way of anyone. But it was Buffy, and nobody even tried to tell her she wasn't supposed to interfere with the new hire process. So the two young women left the room just as Carter, Teal'c, and Jackson arrived. Buffy wanted to find a computer, so she could show Willow the pictures of her trip, before someone classified them so highly secret not even God would be allowed to see them.

* * *

In the meeting room, Sif introduced herself to Hammond, SG-1, and several other senior officials within the SGC. "To those whom I haven't met, my name is Sif. I sit on the Asgard High Council, where my portfolio might be considered, in your terms, Operations and Planning. My group effectively runs all aspects of Asgard society relating to our confrontation with the Replicators, as well as any other potential threat. Although I do not run any operational military actions, I am charged with ensuring that those who do have the resources they need to meet their responsibilities. Given the reality of our situation _vis-à-vis_ the Replicators, more than two thirds of all Asgard industrial production falls within my purview."

Everyone got the message. She had some big-time clout with the Asgard.

"As you are all no doubt unfortunately familiar, industrial production within a society experiencing a confrontation on a massive scale is very carefully regulated, resources allocated according to absolute priorities, entire manufacturing chains dedicated to just-in-time availability of required elements on an as-needed basis. We have devoted enormous efforts to ensuring that everything that is needed will be where it is needed, exactly when it is needed. Our entire society has been transformed to ensure that this supply chain is operational, capable, and effective.

"Simply by existing, Buffy Summers has forced us to throw it all away."

* * *

After asking to borrow someone's laptop, Buffy brought Willow up to her quarters on the 19th sublevel of the complex. Neither realized you were supposed to sign a dozen forms in triplicate, then wait six weeks for security checks to process before you received a computer. Buffy wanted one; Buffy got one. Nobody was going to tell her no. While Willow booted it up, Buffy emptied her backpack onto her bed, looking for the camera, but the bed almost collapsed when a black metal hammer fell from the bag. Ignoring it, Buffy unwrapped the camera from where it had been protected by a shirt and after removing the chip, handed it to Willow. Some of the pictures which soon showed up on the computer screen were spectacular, and Willow was tempted to pinch herself, awed at the realization that she was looking at photographs taken on an alien world.

"I can't believe you traveled to another _galaxy_!" There was no trace of jealousy in Willow's voice. Although excited by the concept, she wasn't certain if she ever wanted to experience such a trip in person.

Shrugging, the excitement of returning to Earth starting to fade, Buffy was even more grateful her friend was around because of everything she had learned while a guest of the Asgard. "I'm going to have to think of something different if I ever have to give a talk on it, because my main memory of the whole trip was that I was in a city with like ten millions Asgard, and there wasn't a single toilet available outside of the apartment I slept in. Somehow I doubt if saying that would bring the 'awe inspiring majesty' of the experience to my audience."

After giggling, Willow agreed that it wouldn't, and continued looking through the pictures. There were a lot of them. Despite only having arrived at the facility two days earlier, she knew they would create a sensation among the scientists, exobiologists, and other related experts on staff. "Thanks for putting in a good word for me, Buffy. It was scary leaving my work behind, especially since I'm so close to getting my PhD, but the stuff they want me to do here is about a billion times more interesting, and they've promised to hold my position on the graduate studies program open for whenever I return, _and_ the government will give me an academic grant for two years for every year I work at the SGC. With a deal like than on the table I'd have jumped at the chance even if I wasn't so desperate to get out of Boston. It wasn't safe there, and I was really worried since Tara wanted to get a job because my finances were starting to run pretty tight…"

She stopped when she noticed Buffy's huge grin which appeared the second she mentioned Tara's name. For a second she said nothing, before reaching over and hugging her friend as tightly as she could. Her voice was hoarse when she finally choked out a few words which couldn't possibly convey the depth of her appreciation. "Thank you… thank you so much for giving me Tara."

* * *

Sif had produced one of the black oval-shaped objects Thor occasionally pulled out of thin air, and set it on the table. Apparently it was a multi-purpose black oval device, because instead of scanning people with it, this one became a holographic projector. "It is Asgard policy not to interfere with the scientific advancement of other cultures while their own theoretical foundation is in the process of developing, so I will be restricted to using your own interpretation of physical reality as the basis for my explanation of the situation we find ourselves in. Dr. Carter's background in physics might, in this instance, be more of a hindrance than a help, as I must be very careful to use generic situational aspects of psychical theory, while attempting to convey a more accurate assessment of the implications for our resulting situation even if the underlying physical description is not completely accurate."

O'Neill just looked at the alien, face a blank mask. "Huh?"

As usual, Carter translated. "She's not going to tell us exactly how it happened, but she's going to tell us what did actually happen."

O'Neill just nodded, wondering why the Asgard chick hadn't just said that.

"The situation we find ourselves destined to confront has its origins at the very instant of Creation. This instant, what you call the Big Bang, was the beginning of everything. There was nothing before the Big Bang; there was no space, there was no time. Reality as we know it did not exist. All that is, began at the moment of Creation, but what began then was not what a reality as we understand it now. At that instant, all space, all time, all energy, came into existence simultaneously. For the merest fraction of a second, all that was, all that could be, was accessible as there were no rules to prevent it. The fundamental laws of time and space did not come into place immediately. An instant later this would all change. The nature of space, and time, and energy, would all change. Laws would be imposed. Time would run in only one direction. Space would be separated into standard dimensions. Entire universes would become decoupled, isolated forever by dimensional barriers. Energies would dissipate into the expansion of newly created space, cooling, permitting the existence of matter.

"But, for that fraction of a second before nature of All-That-Is changed from All-That-Was, the universe was a far different place than we see today. One in which many things could happen. Where many things _did_, in fact, happen, because the era of All-That-Was meant exactly that: _anything_ was possible. Time did not act as we understand it. Space did not act as we understand it. Energy did not act as we understand it. The nature of time-space-energy within the period of All-That-Was-Possible permitted rules and behavior which do not make sense given the rules which must be obeyed in a time and space which permits beings such as ourselves to exist. During the period of All-That-Was, rules were not rules. Time was not time. Space was not space. All-That-Was permitted anything, no matter how unlikely. It should have been impossible. But in that era, which to our senses would have only lasted a fraction of a second, something which could be considered 'life' occurred, evolved, and came to self-awareness.

"What was born there is not like anything we would call 'life' because the conditions it evolved in were not like anything we could understand. Time was not time. Space was not space. Energy was not energy. But the nature of the environment they evolved in _could_ be comprehended by beings who evolved in that environment, and like all life they were forced to adapt in order to survive as that environment changed. No environment has ever changed more than theirs. Time became time. Space became space. Energy became energy. Only very few could adapt to such a profound alteration in their environment, the fundamental shift from All-That-Was, to All-That-Is. So far as we know, only six of them survived the transition.

"We call them the Elder Gods."

Nobody interrupted, not even Jackson, although everyone knew his brilliant mind was probably operating at warp speed, thinking through the implications. O'Neill, on the other hand, had no idea what the hell the thing was talking about. But the Asgard continued before he could ask. "These were beings of unimaginable power. Within their natural environment they could manipulate all of space, all of time, all of energy. But their powers weakened as the nature of All-That-Was changed to became All-That-Is. Universes were isolated by dimensional barriers. Space became limited to three dimensions, the others confined to quantum scales. Time traveled in only one direction, except again at the quantum scale. Energy cooled to matter, and the vast majority of energy reserves –what you would call 'dark energy'—became useless, unable to be manipulated except, of course, at the quantum level. When the Elder Gods realized they could not prevent this from happening they used their power while they still could to create a situation where life could evolve which _could_ exist in a universe where space and time and energy follow the rules as we presently understand them.

"Their powers rapidly atrophied to a fraction of what they had been during the era of All-That-Was. Even so, they were able to create the great stress lines in the early universe which insured that matter would come into being where it could be affected by gravity, so stars could form, and then planets, and then life. They retained enough power to guide those first life forms along evolutionary paths which would culminate in self-awareness, and intelligence, and vast technological achievement. Among those first races, many failed. Many were destroyed in catastrophic wars. But a few transcended their mortal beginnings, achieving Ascension, and could finally communicate directly with the Elder Gods who had made their existence possible. You are familiar with one of those races. We call them the Ancients.

"In the universe where Buffy Summers was born, there are also a number of these Ascended races. One of them is referred to as the Powers That Be."

* * *

There were nearly a thousand pictures on the chip, and despite the wonders they were seeing, it quickly got a bit boring. Willow nodded at the metal hammer Buffy had placed on the floor when it looked like it might crush through the bed. "Where'd you get the hammer?"

Picking it up and twirling it around a bit, Buffy admired the burnished metal construction of the hammer. From handle to tip it was about a foot long, the head square where it met the handle, narrowing in graduated levels to round points at each end. "Thor gave it to me! Jack made some sarcastic comment about giving me a present if I went with him to his planet, and Thor took him seriously. This was the hammer he used when he was here way back when during the Viking days, doing reconnaissance on human cultural evolution or whatever it was they were studying."

"Mjolnir."

"Gesundheit."

Willow giggled. "No. Mjolnir. That's what they called Thor's hammer."

Buffy was indignant. "_Thor_ names his hammer and it's a part of history. _I_ call my stake 'Mr. Pointy' and everybody looks at me like I'm weird." She couldn't help but notice that Willow was looking at her like she was weird. "See? I told you! Maybe I need a cooler name for it…"

Suddenly laughing like a maniac, Willow ignored Buffy's affectionate frown until she was able to get control of herself. "Thank god I'm here! I am soooo glad I met you, Buffy. I was turning into some kind of anti-social robot before you found me. Now I get to laugh, and work on the most interesting project in the world, and meet aliens, and you probably don't want to know about this part, but let me tell you, my sex life has gone from zilch to something for the record books…"

Buffy abruptly covered her ears and made loud "Nahnahnahnahnah! I'm not hearing this!" noises until a giggling Willow fell silent. "I remember living with you two, so I know full well that neither of you are exactly reluctant to get down and dirty! My God, Willow; we _ate_ at that table! Well, I supposed technically so were you… nonononono badthoughts! Bad thoughts! And besides, it's not fair to gloat when Buffy ain't getting any! Of course, maybe that's a good thing when I've just spent a week on a planet filled with androgynous, asexual clones. 'Cause if I had been, people would be looking at me really strange."

They both giggled, and spent a few minutes discussing potential 'love slaves' for Buffy among the base personnel. Willow had the horrible taste to bring up Jack O'Neill as a possibility. Buffy looked horrified. "He's like, _old_! Is my name Buffy Zeta Jones!" The comment got her a raised eyebrow in return. Grumbling that she never should have told Willow about Angle and Spike, she brought up what to her was the fundamental point. "Besides, they were _hot_!"

"And Colonel O'Neill _isn't_!" When that got her a raised eyebrow in return, Willow pretended to be indignant. "Hey, only _mostly_ gay here! I can still _look_!" But after going through only a few other worthy candidates, Buffy returned to something Willow had mentioned earlier. "How come you were so desperate to get out of Boston?"

Still considering possibilities for Buffy-luvin' action, Willow had forgotten how quickly her friend's mind jumped from one topic to another. "Hmmm?" Only when Buffy repeated the question did she realize that the Slayer would not know what had been happening the past week. "It's really tense out there, Buffy. Ever since those nuclear strikes in the Caribbean, Gulf of Mexico, and off the Pacific coast people have been acting really weird. There's been rioting and vandalism and calls for martial law all over the country. People want to hit back, but nobody knows who hit us, so they just want to strike out randomly. It's really scary.

"Even after 9/11 I never though it would get this bad. I mean, really, I kind of assumed people only went so crazy after 9/11 because the Capitol Building got hit. A lot more people died in the World Trade Center collapse, but none of them were _Senators_. Only four of them died, but the politicians had grown so used to the idea that they were invulnerable, that they could send out _other_ people to die, but nobody was allowed to mess with them. The whole 'divine right of kings' thing where only another king is permitted to kill royalty. When they found out it didn't work that way any more, and they were at risk along with everyone else, they went kinda crazy with rules and regulations and laws designed to take out anyone who might threaten them. And us too, I suppose, although I don't think they were overly concerned about _us_ when _they_ were being threatened. That's why they permitted the torture thing, and the holding without charges, and the searching without warrants."

She sighed, and thought for a few seconds before continuing. "What happened after 9/11 can't hold a candle to what is happening out there now. For some reason society seems to be tearing itself apart, and I don't know why. It's like there are people out there deliberately making this happen, antagonizing those people most fed up, going out of their way to prevent anyone from breaking up small protests and then using overkill to crush them when they grow into riots. I've been talking to people online who are experts in crowd control, psychology, public security, and all of them are just as confused as I am by what is happening. Good people have been assigned to handle this, but for some reason, once the time comes to do something, they keep doing the _wrong_ thing. It's not just a few people either. Everyone seems to be doing the wrong thing at the wrong time to escalate the situation, and it's getting worse every day."

* * *

"In Buffy Summers' universe, some of the fundamental natural laws are different than they are in our own universe. They are easier to manipulate, easier to violate. Rules can be 'bent' by the application of unusual forces. Change can be imposed by what might be called _magic_. There are underlying rules to this magic, but those rules are themselves subject to manipulation. Whereas the Ancients in our own universe built the StarGate system, the Powers That Be in her universe created mystical links to alternate environments, pocket universes with different rules and properties. Like the Ancients they are extremely powerful, sometimes quixotic, occasionally even helpful. But there can be no doubt concerning either their power or knowledge. Which brings us to our present difficulties. They have discovered that one of the Old Gods has devised a plan to gain corporeality, to assume a form which will permit it to manipulate matter and energy and space as we understand them.

"It is called the First. It is the most dangerous creature in the Universe. And the only being with even the remotest possibility of stopping it is Buffy Summers."

* * *

As she listened to Willow describe the mess outside the base, Buffy was reminded of a similar –although admittedly smaller—situation in Los Angeles the year before she died for the third time. At the time she'd been dealing with her own issues so hadn't paid too much attention to it, trusting that Angel and his team would be able to handle it. Which they had, although at considerable cost. Something about a Goddess named Jasmine, coming to earth to bring peace, salvation, eternal happiness, and all the other fun stuff that never seemed to be quite as much fun once you realized the price you would have to pay to receive them. She had no way of knowing if the situation outside was similarly unnatural, but it sure as hell wasn't normal. It would even be, well, _comforting_ to learn that some of what was happening in this world wasn't natural, had been imposed externally. That the government of the United States of America didn't torture people. But without knowing who might be causing the problem, Buffy didn't know if there was anything she could do about fixing it either.

It wasn't like she didn't have her own problems to deal with. Like deciding who she really was. If the Asgard were right –and she had no reason to doubt them—then, truthfully, she was Elizabeth Summers. Which would explain a few things. Like her recent interest in architecture, for instance. Having some of Elizabeth's psychic talent would explain even more, like her feeling that she had to go see Faith just when she was in trouble. Or, especially, being able to see space ships at Jupiter in real time. What the hell kind of useless talent was that for a Slayer? But to a _psychic_, on the other hand, especially one prompted for weeks by the prophetic dreams of a Slayer, distance might just be irrelevant. And if those psychic talents could be controlled, well, that opened all sorts of possibilities. None of which were particularly useful at the moment, but presented some options for the future. Because if she wanted to go after the First, she'd need every edge she could get.

Looking over Willow's shoulder to the pictures of the alien world appearing on the laptop screen, Buffy knew the decision had already been made. Although she had Elizabeth's body, her abilities, and some of her interests, her mind belonged to Buffy. Her _mission_ was Buffy's. And most importantly, she still loved Buffy's sister.

She didn't have the slightest doubt that the First knew exactly what her sister truly was. And between stopping the First and protecting her sister, that was cause enough to choose an identity. Elizabeth wasn't a Slayer. Elizabeth couldn't do a damned thing to protect Dawn. Elizabeth just wasn't capable of doing what needed to be done. _Buffy_ could. And _Buffy_ did not intend to fail a second time.


	20. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

**Far Beyond Normal**

**Chapter Nineteen**

O'Neill was having a hard time believing the Asgard. Not just because he wasn't following a lot of what it was saying, but because he couldn't believe that _Buffy_ was the only one who could save the _whole friggin' universe_. Just the sound of it strained credibility; Buffy, Savior of the Universe. Granted, so far the kid had demonstrated some pretty awesome talents, but the idea that she could take on some powerful God even the Asgard were crapping their drawers over seemed ridiculous. He didn't even have to say anything for Sif to notice he wasn't buying it. But she wasn't speaking to him. He wasn't the one she was trying to convince.

"The transition from All-That-Was to All-That-Is occurred at the onset of a period you call Inflation, a period of sudden and dramatic expansion in the size of the very early universe. You consider it to be the result of a 'phase shift,' somewhat analogous to ice melting or water boiling. However so far your theoreticians do not postulate what _caused_ this change of state. They only know that it _did_ happen, that things _did_ change on a truly fundamental level. Our own belief is that this transition occurred due to the creation and appearance of something known as the Key.

"The Key's effect was analogous to a catalyst in a chemical reaction. Simply by existing, it caused a fundamental, powerful change. In the case of the Key, the changes were profound and dramatic: dimensional stability, an arrow to time, macroscopic order whereas previously there had been only quantum-scale disorder. Uncountable trillions of isolated, separate universes resulted from the appearance of the Key. They exist, today, because the Key still exists. Merely by existing, the Key ensures that _we_ can exist. Were the Key not to exist, we would very quickly _cease_ to exist, as dimensional barriers would collapse, and the fundamental underpinnings of our natural laws would no longer hold true.

"The Elder Gods knew that the creation of the Key meant the end of their dominion. They tried to stop it, but could not. Simply by existing, the change the Key brought about became inevitable. Once it existed, the inevitable, by definition, could not be prevented. However, like its chemical equivalent, the Key was not affected by the transition it catalyzed. It will remain even today a component of the universe of All-That-Was, unaffected by time, or space, or energy. It can exist anywhere in all the trillions of isolated universes, at any point in time, and it is the most powerful entity in all of Creation. It is even more powerful than the Old Gods. It has been hidden for eons. Legends have built around it. Religions are based on it.

"Buffy Summers knows where it is."

* * *

. 

After awhile, pictures of spires and buildings become boring, even if they were alien spires and buildings. They didn't really turn off the laptop, but gradually got more involved in their gossip as Buffy questioned Willow on her plans now that she was employed by the SGC. The 'quarters' Buffy had been assigned could more accurately be called a cell, a small room dug into the rock of the mountain, and while it was adequate for a place to sleep occasionally, she had no desire to live there permanently. When Willow let her know that Tara was out house-hunting, Buffy almost casually mentioned that she'd like to be able to rent a room from them, as it had worked out fairly well when they had rented a room from her back in Sunnydale.

Buffy had another reason for making the offer as well. "You know this is one of the most homophobic cities in America, right? Sort of 'Riyadh in the Rockies'."

Willow nodded, well aware of the conservative philosophical bent of the town. "We talked it over before we decided to come here. It will be something we'll have to adjust to, but things can't be any worse here than they were in Boston since the Attack. And, well, we kinda hoped you might want to stay with us. I assumed that our new employers would be keeping you so busy you wouldn't need a home of your own, since you'd be there so rarely, but thought it would be nice to have a place to stay, you know…"

Smiling, Buffy reached over and hugged her friend quickly. "Sounds like a good plan. Only, uh… when I'm there… uh, kinda be a bit less…. uh, _frisky_, in the kitchen. Okay?"

Bending her head, a blushing Willow giggled, but inwardly sighed just a bit. There went one of her fantasies. But then she smiled evilly in remembrance of some of the things she and Tara had already done. It wasn't like she didn't have a whole lot of _other_ fantasies. Even a few that didn't involve the kitchen.

* * *

. 

After explaining that Buffy had refused to tell them what the Key was, or where it was located, the alien made it clear the Asgard nonetheless had no doubt that she was telling the truth. "It cannot be a coincidence that someone changed the fundamental nature of space and time in our universe to permit a being like the Slayer to exist, just when the First has gained corporeality. It would make no sense to go to such immense effort unless Buffy Summers either possesses, or has access to, a weapon sufficiently powerful to defeat a being so awesomely powerful in itself."

Hammond was frowning. "Why don't the Ancients, or those 'Powers That Be' creatures, fight the First themselves? They must know everything Buffy knows. This girl has been through a lot. Maybe too much. She's doing well, but she's as close to combat fatigue as anyone I have ever seen. If it were up to me I'd order her to take a six month vacation in Tahiti. Why make her fight their battles when they are so much more powerful?"

"Many reasons. First of all, this is what she does. She is a _Slayer_. From what we are given to know, she may be the greatest Slayer who has ever lived, and if you knew how great some of them have been you were understand just what a compliment that truly is." For a second the alien paused, before continuing. "Secondly, just knowing where the Key is located would not be enough to defeat the First. The Key is a creature of All-That-Was; it is composed of not-space, not-time, not-energy. It is, in the technical sense, alive, in that it is aware of its own existence. But it would have no conception of time as we understand it. A nuclear explosion on top of it might, barely, get its attention; but it might take ten thousand of our years for it to realize that the bomb was an attempt to gain its notice. Buffy Summers believes she may be able to communicate with it in the time available. If this is true, so far as we know she is the only one in all of Creation who can make such a claim."

Once again the alien paused, which was not normal behavior for the Asgard. It wasn't until she spoke again that the humans understood why. "And the third reason they won't fight is the most simple of all.

"They are afraid."

* * *

. 

It had taken some time for Buffy to work up the courage, but she'd finally told Willow what had happened on the Asgard homeworld. Told her that she was, technically, Elizabeth Summers. That someone had gone to great lengths to bring her back in such a way that the First wouldn't know about it. And that everyone was expecting her to fight the First. "I want to do it, Wil. I _need_ to do it! But I have never been so afraid of anything in my entire life. You cannot _believe_ how powerful this thing is. The last time I tried to fight it, I was so outclassed I never stood a chance. And not much has changed since then."

Moving over to sit on the bed beside her friend, Willow carefully chose her words before speaking. She knew this was important. In fact, she suspected this was the real reason the SGC had hired her. She was the Slayer's friend, her confidant, the person Buffy could talk to when she couldn't trust anyone else. But she wasn't really the friend Buffy remembered, she wasn't used to acting as a sound-board for concerned friends, and the last thing she wanted to do was offer bad advice. "Then why are you thinking about doing it?"

"Because it has my sister! And if I don't fight it, who will? This thing is dangerous, and it has to be stopped. I _hate_ losing! I especially hate losing like that, like I was _nothing_, something so pathetic that it didn't even have to work at it to beat me." She looked up finally, meeting Willow's eyes. "But mostly because it has Dawn. For all her annoyance and whininess, Dawn is my _sister_, and the thought of that _bitch_ messing with her head, pretending to be me and using that to hurt her, makes me want to kill the fucking thing with my bare hands."

Sitting utterly still, Willow's blood turned cold at the rage in the Slayer's eyes. Ever since arriving at the Mountain she'd heard nothing but stories about Buffy. Stories about how pretty she was, the amazing things she could do, the incredible fight to capture her, the way she had quite literally saved the world from an invading Goa'uld fleet, the competency she had displayed in dealing with the Goa'uld infiltrators. Willow suddenly realized that none of them knew the real Buffy. They didn't know she was afraid. They didn't know the price she had paid to save them. Or the price she suspected she would have to pay to save them again. Only Willow would know that, because Buffy wouldn't trust anyone else enough to let them know. "Do you have any idea what you're going to do? I mean, I totally understand you wanting to protect your sister, but just _wanting_ to do it doesn't mean you _can_. If this First thing is as dangerous as you say, you're going to need a real good plan to have a chance of defeating it."

Nodding almost spastically, Buffy looked down at her entwined fingers. "I know. But I have no idea how to beat it." Suddenly she looked up to meet Willow's eyes. "But everyone else is expecting me to. Because none of them know how to beat it either."

* * *

. 

After Hammond's quick glare silenced the tirade coming from some of his underlings concerning the gutless Ancients, he found himself glaring equally angrily at the Asgard, and needed to make a deliberate effort to get a grip on his temper. "You're _using_ that girl, Sif. All of you. Treating her like a _tool_, a disposable weapon you've programmed to do your dirty work."

The Asgard merely nodded, accepting the rebuke. "We have no choice. She _is_ a tool. The Slayer was created for a specific purpose. She has been genetically programmed for this function. It is what the Slayer was meant for. It –_she_—is quite simply incapable of not performing this action. No matter the cost."

Jackson had had enough. Leaping to his feet, he glared at the Asgard. "Now just a minute! That is completely unacceptable! If you think we are going…" His words cut off abruptly, his throat paralyzed. There was no pain, but he couldn't move a muscle. He had a sudden flash to Darth Vader Force-choking some random 'red shirted' Admiral, and until then never would have pictured the Asgard as a Sith. Which had way too many cultural references, he frantically thought, wondering what the hell had just happened.

Sif just stared at him, then looked around the room when the others protested what was happening to their resident linguist. "Although I do understand your concern for your friend, I find your anger to be somewhat misplaced. _We_ are not the ones who tortured her, Dr. Jackson. _We_ did not abuse her or create the emotional stresses and fatigue she presently endures. Under the circumstances, you are in no position to suggest that we are responsible for her condition. This battle needs to be fought. Circumstances have dictated that Buffy Summers has been chosen to fight it. It is a destiny she can not avoid, and would not even want to avoid had she actually been given any choice in the matter. Granted she might have been better prepared to meet her destiny had you not physically and mentally brutalized her to the point where she may not be capable of handling what she must soon face. But this was not our fault."

Whatever had frozen Jackson in place abruptly released, and he was free to move. He didn't, however, clenching his fists and glaring at the Asgard. "We didn't…"

Normally, the grey aliens were too polite to interrupt when someone else was speaking. Not this one. Not this time. It was only then that it dawned on Hammond that the alien wasn't just annoyed; by Asgard standards it was furious. "Yes, _you_. Do not try to deflect this, Dr. Jackson. What happened was committed by _your_ kind, approved by your own government. No one has been punished for it. No one has disavowed the action. So, yes, _you_ are responsible for it. All of you. So I must filter your expressions of horror and shock over our plans for the Slayer through the prism of your own actions, and find myself with somewhat less than full belief at your sudden avowal of concern. This is what she _wants_. This is what she _does_. If she fails, the consequences will be nothing short of catastrophic on a scale you cannot even imagine. Nothing we are asking of her will cause anything like the physical pain _you_ caused her, and you did it for reasons which fall somewhat short by comparison. So if you wish to express concern over our plans or proposed actions, I am going to have to insist that it be of a somewhat more constructive nature than 'You're being mean to her' when it is, in fact, _your_ actions which have been nothing short of disgraceful."

Hammond swallowed on a suddenly dry throat. It wasn't like Buffy hadn't warned him. It wasn't like he hadn't warned the Pentagon, the White House, hell, everyone who would listen. When you act like barbarians, your allies look at you different. Your friends look at you different. The Asgard were both, and by sending someone so close to the pinnacle of their power structure, they were stating loud and clear that the Asgard were looking at Earth differently, and not liking what they were seeing. The implications were not pleasant. Knowing what was at stake, Hammond decided that this time he was going to try a different tactic, because a simple apology wasn't going to cut it. "I'm becoming a bit concerned about that myself, Sif. Even by the standards of the NID what happened to Buffy seemed to be an immensely stupid thing to do. Even the NID isn't usually crazy enough to do something like this unless the potential reward is justifies the risks they were prepared to accept.

"The risks they ran were in no way commensurate with the rewards they anticipated. Strangely enough, I'm seeing that a lot lately. Ordinary people, doing immensely stupid things, acting out with anger completely disproportionate to the cause. Something is happening on this world, something affecting people. I don't know if it's something we're doing to ourselves, or something someone else is doing to us, but either way we're not acting like ourselves.

"And yes, I do understand that this could be construed as an attempt to deflect blame, to suggest that we are not responsible for our own actions. But I look at things like what happened to Buffy, and the strange events tearing my country apart, and I can't help but wonder why we are suddenly acting so out of character. This isn't like us. I realize that we have been acting… _strangely_… ever since the 9/11 attacks, but this seems rather extreme, even given our recent behavior. I am wondering if it is, perhaps, more than a completely _natural_ matter."

The Asgard tended to blink when they were surprised. As well as when they needed to moisten their eyes, of course. From Sif's reaction, Hammond figured the former was the case in this instance. He'd managed to surprise the alien. Long seconds of silence passed while it considered its words, before responding. "Although the First, as one of the Old Gods, exists in all dimensions, can manifest in all isolated universes despite dimensional barriers, it has achieved corporeality in only _one_ universe. Buffy Summers' universe. Although it threatens everything, only one universe is _specifically_ at risk at the present time. In order to permit their Champion to survive, to hide, to regain her powers before resuming her attack on the First, the Powers That Be needed to make a fundamental change to _this_ universe. Normally such a change would have been forbidden by those ascended races which evolved here. Even under the threat represented by the First, those races would not subject themselves to the difficulty of adapting themselves to the change unless they were offered something in return. Something that made it worth their while.

"We believe that the price they demanded involves your world. An invasion of your world. Perhaps even the destruction of your world. Part of the behavior you are describing might involve preliminary actions by the invaders."

* * *

. 

Willow tried to be reassuring, but she was working in uncharted territory. Despite the few days they had been together in Boston, she really didn't know Buffy all that well. Not nearly as much as the Slayer knew her. But she figured the best thing she could do for her friend was to offer the best advice she knew. "If I don't know how to do something, what I normally do is ask an expert. Even if I don't do what they suggest, they can usually give you a good starting point. To, you know, research your options, to plan your own method of attacking the problem. I mean, I'm a computer scientist, not a Slayer, but really it's not _too_ different. You have a problem. You need an expert to help you solve it. I can't help but notice that the SGC has more experts in the art of fighting aliens on site than anywhere else on Earth. I just thought I'd, you know, point that out."

When Buffy raised her head, her expression had changed. No longer in a depressed funk, she was obviously considering the suggestion. But she needed convincing. "They've never faced anything like the First."

Shrugging, Willow felt she was on the right track. "Nobody but you ever has, Buffy, and much as I hate to say it, you yourself admitted that the last time you faced it, the First beat you badly. I don't question your ability or your commitment, but under the circumstances I really think you should consider the possibility that some of the people here might have something to teach you. These are good people, Buffy. Some of the best I've ever seen. And I don't dispute the fact that you've saved the world time and again, but so have _they_. They might be able to help."

For a second Buffy was too stunned to react. Some of the people in the mountain, including all of the members of SG1, had tried to invite her to social engagements or parties, but she had declined them all. Somewhere deep inside herself she held them, if not responsible, then at least partially accountable for what had happened to her at the hands of the NID. Intellectually she knew they had nothing to do with it. But they worked for the same people, and they hadn't prevented it from happening. It wasn't fair, but she couldn't seem to stop herself from holding back, holding on to a grudge that she only then realized was preventing her from seeing things that Willow saw so clearly.

She thought of watching Hammond conduct a meeting, how much he had taught her without even trying. She thought of how many times she had failed back in Sunnydale because she had been too proud to ask for help from her friends. She thought of the raw talent and abilities so many of the people she had met in the mountain had demonstrated, the way they worked together to combine those talents to succeed. Without special powers, without supernatural prompting, they got the job done, despite the odds, despite the power of their opponents. For a second Buffy couldn't believe the answer had been staring her in the face for so long and she'd never seen it, blinded by her own depression and rage and ego. It wouldn't be easy. But it might be a _start_. Meeting Willow's eyes, for the first time in far too long Buffy smiled, a wide, relieved expression of wonder. "I'm glad you're here too, Wil. I almost forgot how much I need you. How much I need to listen to you.

"I won't forget again."

* * *

.

Hammond's eyes were hard, and he could see that Jack was barely restraining himself from yelling at the Asgard. "You mean to tell me you _knew_ this was happening, and didn't tell us? _Knew_ we are being manipulated, are being threatened, and have sat there complaining that _our_ behavior has been disgraceful! I would suggest that you take a good look at your own actions before you accuse us of acting inappropriately!"

As usual the alien seemed unperturbed. "Your actions _have_ been disgraceful, General Hammond. Although we do suspect that those actions have been manipulated by outside forces, it is also true that it has been your people who carried out those actions of their own free will. Who convinced themselves that what they were doing was acceptable. One of the reasons I did not inform you of what might be happening at the start of our conversation is because I suspected you would use it as an excuse, a way to assuage your own guilt with delusions of your own innocence. The enemies I speak of do not create reality out of nothing, General. They work with what is already present. You _could_ have resisted. Your own laws, your own ethical standards suggest that you _should_ have resisted. You not only failed; you embraced the delusion and went out of your way to subvert those who pointed out that you were not living up to your own ideals. It would do you well to remember that fact when you attempt to convince yourself that what happened was not your fault, and therefore you do not bear responsibility."

Meeting the humans eyes without flinching, Sif continued. "We preferred to deal with the SGC rather than an international organization because we found you, and those who worked here, to be honorable; beings who held themselves to a higher ethical standard than many others on your planet. Since you have decided that it is more efficient to no longer strive to meet those standards, our primary motivation for working directly with you is no longer applicable. We are currently reassessing our commitment to maintaining our present relationship in light of this alteration in policy. It is important that you understand this, because it leads me to my final point. In light of Buffy Summers' importance to the events to come, it is critical that she not be hurt any more than she already has been. I realize that she is safe while under your protection in this facility, but my understanding is that certain agencies of your own government would prefer that she be placed in their control. This is not acceptable to the Asgard.

"I would strongly advise you to inform your government that they not take any actions which might restrain Miss Summers' freedom of movement in any way, shape, or form. Should they do so, the Asgard will directly punish those responsible. _Everyone_ responsible. Not just those who _commit_ any actions against her, or even anyone who _authorized_ such actions, but including anyone who _fails to prevent_ such actions. No matter who they might be within your political or judicial hierarchy. No matter what the consequences to our relationship with your government. You have chosen to adopt a policy of 'the ends justifies the means,' and 'might makes right' in your dealings with others on your own planet. From this moment forward we, too, will adopt these policies in our dealings with _you_."

It met their stunned expressions, and despite not being able to express itself similarly, had no trouble conveying the impression that it was both furious and adamant. "I trust I have made the Asgard position on this matter abundantly clear?"

Nobody answered. Nobody had to.


	21. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

**Far Beyond Normal**

**Chapter Twenty**

The party was a good idea. Five days after returning from her trip to the Asgard homeworld, Buffy couldn't help but realize that things were tense all over. Even within the mountain, she was amazed at how much the tension had been ratcheted up. She had a pretty good idea that it had something to do with Sif's meeting with those in charge of the SGC. Nobody was outright saying anything, but hints she had picked up made it pretty clear the Asgard had told them that Buffy was under their protection. They must have been somewhat less than delicate about it too, because soon after the meeting ended, senior diplomats began arriving from Washington, and Hammond had been holding briefings almost all day, every day. The glares she was getting from offended politicians contrasted nicely with the way everyone else was acting like she was visiting royalty. An invitation to General West's party, where only the most senior military, business, and political elite were invited, pretty much sealed the deal that she was now operating at a lofty social level.

The ostensible reason for the party was to introduce the advance team of a high-level delegation from Washington, who would be arriving several days later to discuss 'the situation.' Buffy was given strong indications that 'the situation' involved her in a very direct way, but nobody was so impolite as to actually say so. Heading up the delegation would be the Vice President, and his front man arriving early to coordinate the meeting was a Senator named Kinsey, whom Buffy had never heard of before. The only Kinsey she knew had been a sex researcher back in the 'fifties. When she brought up that fact it caused uproarious laughter among the SGC crew. They had never even heard of the movie about his life, even though Teal'c was familiar with Liam Neeson's portrayal of Qui-Gon in the Star Wars prequels.

For reasons Buffy couldn't fathom, O'Neill was also invited to the party, although she suspected it was likely to represent the SGC. Given the tense situation, Hammond hadn't felt comfortable about leaving his post, which sort of limited their options on who they could send to babysit Buffy. She took the opportunity to dress up, not having had a chance to really push the sartorial envelope in far too long. Once she was ready, and in her not-so-unbiased opinion looking beyond fabulous, she felt good enough about herself to even be polite to O'Neill. He cleaned up surprisingly well for an old dude, looking resplendent in his dress uniform, and had even cleaned and washed the jeep he was using to drive them to a posh section of town. It came as no surprise that West's house was impressive. Given his position, she expected no less. Even so, it had been especially decorated for the festivities.

Along with West and General Kerrigan, their senior aides, O'Neill and several other officers, the mayor, two senators, two congressmen, and a billionaire were in attendance. Two Secret Service agents acting as an advance team preparing for the Vice President's arrival were also loitering around. Their respective wives and dates were done up even fancier than Buffy, who glared at O'Neill for having whined about her taking too long to select her own accessories when he had arrived to pick her up. It wasn't like she had made him wait that long… no more than twenty minutes, tops. He was also damned lucky they had let her out early enough to get her hair done or she'd be unleashing some medieval slayage on his ass about now. Her lack of adequate jewelry meant she was still considering it, a fact she brought up with an irritated glare as she assessed the competition while he parked the car. Since it was also most definitely _not_ a date she opened her own door, showing an impressive amount of smooth leg as she exited, her dress not just up to fashion-plate Buffy standards, but a level or two higher than normal.

Even among the high-powered crowd she was the center of attention. They had been hearing the rumors about her, and by his actions West made it clear that she was the guest of honor, to the open annoyance of a famous right-wing radio personality. The fact that nobody would say _why_ she was the guest of honor made it even more interesting, especially since all of the politicians West introduced her to made it clear _they_ knew who she was, and had no intention of causing her any offence, but wouldn't explain _why_. Which was rather underhanded of them, as it only made speculation even more rampant. Buffy would have found the whole event a Cinderella-level soirée were it not for the fact that one of the guests was sending her spider-sense into a five alarm chorus… as was the fact that he was accompanied by someone she remembered quite clearly. The last person she expected to see there was her father's old boss, Greg Denneck.

He recognized her as well. The fury in his expression merited a smug look of contempt, but his companion wasn't so easy to dismiss. Casually returning her attention to O'Neill, she met his eyes and made a subtle gesture towards the two men. Getting the message, he was about to make a sarcastic comment when he noticed how hard her eyes were. By then he knew her well enough to know when she was just being typical Buffy, and when the Slayer was on the job. In this particular instance the latter was most definitely the case. He knew exactly who she was gesturing at, although he couldn't imagine what it was that would set her off about the famous industrialist. "Milton Berklyn. Zillionaire. Big-time political contributor. Kinsey's patron, in fact."

Already having met the senior Senator, and drawn her own conclusions as to what an oily prick he was going to turn out to be, Buffy was still shocked that any politician, even one like Kinsey, would work with someone triggering every sense as a dangerous, truly _evil_ entity as the man O'Neill had just named. Even though she hadn't been a Slayer the last time they met, Buffy had instinctively reacted against Denneck. But even he was a pale shadow to this man. Even though he was definitely human, the Slayer was reacting to him like it would a master vampire. It took all of her self-control not to stake him out of hand, and she knew she wouldn't allow the man out of her sight the entire night. Others might misinterpret her attention for attraction. Berklyn was an extremely good-looking man; tall, slim, in excellent shape, easily a decade younger than O'Neill. Very well dressed, even affecting a black walking stick despite no sign of a limp. Women seemed drawn to him, to the timbre of his voice, the casual grace he displayed in every gesture. She tried to hide her reaction, but Buffy saw him as a slimmer, more distinguished version of Angelus, and every instinct was screaming that he was just as amoral and dangerous.

Without a word being said she conveyed that assessment to O'Neill using only the hardness in her eyes, the way she stood, seemingly as ease but prepared to unleash unimaginable violence the instant an internal switch was triggered. For the most part she hid it well. Only O'Neill knew that Death was in the room, deceptively packaged in a tiny blond girl in a pretty blue dress. Or at least he thought he was the only one who knew, until West met his eyes questioningly, suddenly not quite the jovial host, knowing something Very Bad was about to happen and having no idea what or why. Trying to diffuse the situation before any of the VVIP's around them got caught up in the cross-fire, O'Neill tried to gently grasp her forearm and guide her to a small study just off from the crowded living room, but he could feel that her muscles were tensed into steel cables and knew he wasn't moving her anywhere she didn't want to go.

Later he would be embarrassed to realize how long it took him to understand why she had picked her spot and wasn't budging. Even after all he had seen, he still didn't fully appreciate the tactical skill the girl could bring to bear on any situation. He was still seeing her as a dangerous predator; deadly, but not too bright. It was an impression she deliberately encouraged. It was only when he realized the position of the doors, the unobtrusive Secret Service agents, the other 'guests' who were acting just a bit too interested in the silent confrontation most of the other people there didn't even realize was happening under their noses that O'Neill understood that she had chosen the single point in the room which gave her the most flexibility, the greatest set of options for any subsequent action. It was probably only then that he understood just how good she was, that despite all his experience and training this girl was a whole different level of 'dangerous' than even him.

Almost casually, he moved so that he wasn't in her way, acting against all instinct which demanded he protect her from a danger he still couldn't see. For a fraction of a second he thought about saying something, demanding either an explanation or a complete dismissal of her instinctive reaction. All that was frozen in its tracks with a series of lightning-fast thoughts: she was one of _his_ people now, it would distract her, and he would support her call. Her instincts were inhumanly good, as was her lethal talent. And finally, he was beginning to see the faintest trace of what had spooked her. The look in the eyes of the Secret Service guys. The way some of the people were watching the girl, how different it was from the way a normal male would look at a very attractive woman. When O'Neill finally finished his quick survey he met West's eyes, the General a combat veteran himself and aware that something serious had spooked his guest of honor… and that a special ops leader he trusted was also sensing something Very Wrong.

Looking over at Berklyn, West had no idea what was setting off the girl. He himself was a huge fan of the industrialist, and had been delighted when someone of his stature had accepted the invitation to the reception he was holding for the Washington team. Although there had been plenty of speculation about the Summers' girl, it was really Berklyn most of the local elite wanted to see, and had turned a small get-together into the social event of the season. Kinsey was powerful, and likely to grow more so, but he was a political animal none of them really trusted. Berklyn had the social graces of European aristocracy, despite being American, and could charm the panties off a nun. But not this girl, apparently. Having the two of them in each other's faces would not be pleasant. His wife would never forgive him.

Hoping to head off whatever disaster was about to happen, West was relieved to note that Buffy seemed to get a grip on herself as he approached. She seemed to relax, although there was a hyper-alertness to her that probably only those who knew what she was capable of doing would notice. Given her tiny size and genuine attractiveness most people would almost instinctively dismiss her potential for violence, even had they noticed the momentary lethal glint in her eye. By the time West oh-so-casually crossed the room to stand near her she seemed back in control of herself. But West had studied her carefully after his introduction to her amazing talents, and knew it was an act. Having witnessed her in action, he also wasn't about to dismiss her instincts despite the power and fame of his other guests.

"Is there a problem?" He spoke quietly, glancing around the room, noting how much attention was being paid to them by people who should have been looking elsewhere. The high-powered political delegation should have been hustling the money-men, but all were watching Buffy with varying expressions of interest. Kinsey wore his usual smarmy look of contempt, but only California congressman Dan Kessleton seemed to be seeing the girl as something other than an object to be manipulated into doing what they wanted using any means necessary.

"Did I ever tell you that I once ran into Dracula?"

The comment came out of left field, and O'Neill looked at her strangely. "_The_ Dracula?"

She scowled, not looking away from the billionaire, annoyed at the awe in his tone. "Just 'Dracula.' No 'the.' He just had a good PR outfit. Though I gotta admit, turning into a bat was wicked cool. But his big claim to fame is a mind-control power called the 'thrall.' Really freaky. He could cloud your mind, make you do stuff, the whole bug-eating thing. Euro-trashy seduction, sensual overload, all sorts of tricks with his voice and eyes. End result is you do what he says, no matter what.

"Our friend over there reminds me a lot of good old Drac."

West frowned. "You mean he's a _vampire_?"

For a quick second she glanced over at him, frowning. "No! But he sure as hell has the power of the 'thrall.' Same attitude as Dracula, too. Monomaniacal, sociopathic asshole. People are just toys for him to manipulate at will. It's all a game to him, playing with us, screwing with our heads for his own amusement. I thought Denneck was a jerk. But he's got nothing on this guy." She continued to observe the billionaire as he was lionized by fawning admirers. Even from across the room she could feel his charisma, only her experience with the famous vampire permitting her to resist being overwhelmed by the same feeling of adoration. And just like her experience with Dracula, she wasn't entirely sure how thoroughly she would be able to resist his influence.

She wasn't at all surprised that neither man believed her. O'Neill frowned, but West just looked irritated. "That's _ridiculous_. Okay, I'll admit the guy has charisma to burn. But that doesn't make him a vampire." Buffy also wasn't surprised at the way he was deliberately misunderstanding her words. Part of what made the thrall so effective was that it forced its victims to come up with their own explanations for any information which contradicted the thrall programming. Unfortunately West wasn't finished. "C'mon, I'll introduce you. Once you meet the man you won't find him so intimidating."

Knowing that it was inevitable, Buffy allowed him to guide her towards the two men holding audience across the room. She kept the tightest possible rein on her emotions, hoping like hell the partial immunity she had developed after exposure to Dracula would give her equal protection from the person she was approaching. The crowd surrounding him gave way as they arrived, not even realizing they were doing it, chess pieces to be moved at will by a man who Buffy was absolutely certain considered them to be less than dirt at his feet. And to think she had thought Denneck was an asshole. But she was just a tiny bit concerned, as their ability to manipulate even strong, mentally tough individuals such as West and O'Neill was a bit disconcerting.

One thing she did have to admit was that the guy was dreamy. The closer she got, the more obvious it became. Coarse blond hair, deliberately shaggy, expensively styled to appear untamed. Brilliant blue eyes, full of curiosity and intelligence and just a spark of mischief. From a distance he'd appeared slim, but on closer inspection he had a lean, fit, runners physique, not an ounce of flab on him. As befitting his wealth and status his clothing was impeccably stylish, expensively cut and tailored to his precise specifications. She wasn't sure how much of her impression was due to his overwhelming aura of innate power or simply a natural consequence of his position atop the social hierarchy, the natural due of the Alpha Male in the presence of a woman. Never before had she seen a more attractive man. Next to this man, Angel had been a pot-bellied truck-driving yokel. Next to him, Spike had been a punk, a Billy-Idol wannabe loser. This was the man she'd been looking for her entire life.

West introduced her, his tone fawning, naturally obsequious in the presence of superior man. Buffy smiled prettily as the incredible man raised her hand to kiss her knuckles European-style, demonstrating the culture and refinement she would have expected of such an individual. He spoke, asking something, but she instinctively knew that as a woman it wasn't her place to answer, it was up to the men accompanying her to discuss important things, her function to be pretty and silent unless addressed directly. She didn't even really bother to listen in on what they were talking about, knowing it wasn't important and almost certainly beyond her understanding, so simply primped and casually looked around, more to demonstrate her toned physique and draw attention to the lines of her neck than out of any interest in anything beyond appearing sexually attractive to this extraordinary individual.

For just a fraction of a second she was confused, not recognizing the man standing beside the God-like being she was lucky enough to be standing near, wondering why he was looking at her with an expression of amused contempt. There was just something about his expression that annoyed her, a momentary glitch in her fog of sexual attraction. There was an almost audible click as her mind suddenly cleared, reaction instantaneous as she lashed out with her left hand, belting the billionaire in the jaw hard enough to knock him flying back into the wall, twisting to follow up with an uppercut to Denneck's smug face before his friend's already-unconscious body hit the floor. The two Secret Service agents, ostensibly there to provide security for the Congressional team, reached for their guns, but Buffy was already in motion, leg sweeping around to kick one in the head, grabbing the gun arm of the other and twisting, applying just enough force to knock him down and secure him with the proper leverage to ensure he remained there despite his every effort.

It had all happened so quickly that all four were down before the first scream came from someone in the stunned crowd. Buffy herself was almost freaking out in horror at losing control so completely, allowing herself to be mentally dominated so totally, so quickly. She wanted to take a shower, she felt so violated. For probably the first time she understood why Xander had been so outraged over being in thrall to Dracula, when at the time she had privately found it a bit amusing. Having experienced it first hand, she was finding it a whole lot less funny. But dealing with it would have to wait, as her host was looking at her in horror, and she had a surprised but about-to-become-supremely-pissed-off Secret Service guy in an armlock. Still, at least he was under control, unlike a furious West, who was looking like he was thinking about attacking her himself.

Before he could even get over the shock and start demanding explanations, Buffy glared at him, and growled. "Look at me! Look directly into my eyes." Her words penetrated his anger, and he suddenly recalled that the whole point of the party was to ensure they came to some arrangement to ensure she was around to be used as a resource by the SGC. Forcing himself to calm down, West nodded. Seeing that he was quickly gaining control of himself, Buffy ignored the others only then beginning to demand answers and directed her full attention to the NORAD commander. "Don't look away from me… but out of the corner of your eye, take a look at your friend there. See him for what he really is."

It took only a second for him to process her instructions, Buffy was happy to note. Considering the guy was one of the few people in the world with the authority to launch nuclear missiles on his own initiative, it was nice to see that it took a lot to knock him off balance, and he was quick to regain it when it did happen. Even so it took a few seconds before he finished glaring at her and took her suggestion. She knew the instant he did, because his eyes suddenly widened in shock and his head snapped over to stare at the unconscious billionaire. Barely paying attention to the Secret Service agent at her feet struggling mightily to escape her secure hold, Buffy glanced over at O'Neill, who had followed her suggestion when he saw West's reaction. Obviously he rather quickly saw the same thing, as he was staring at the unconscious body and then looking away from it, trying to come to grips with what he was seeing.

When seen out of the corner of the eye, Berklyn did look something like a vampire. Extremely pale, eyes an even paler blue that looked as if he might be blinded by cataracts, there were noticeable scars disfiguring his face. The short walking stick he carried was actually much longer in reality, a large crystal at the top end, glowing with a dull blue light. His hair was thinner than it had appeared, a terminal case of split ends horrifying Buffy far more than the dark scars on his chin. Any direct look and the features all disappeared, instantly showing only the stud muffin the others in the room were still seeing. But soon a few of them were also seeing something weird, and muttering could be heard above the horrified shouting in response to the display of violence.

Tiring of holding off the struggling agent, Buffy let him go but almost instantly grabbed the back of his collar and ripped down, the buttons on his shirt and suit jacket securing his arms to his side. It wouldn't hold him long, but Buffy knew she didn't have much time either way. Unless she was prepared to kill Berklyn while he was unconscious, which she most definitely was not. But he would awaken soon enough, so there was a lot she had to do before that happened because she knew damned well that he would be able to completely cloud their minds again the second he regained consciousness. Turning back to face a still-shocked West after tossing the bound agent onto a nearby chair, she politely asked if she could borrow his cell phone. It took even him a few seconds to realize what she was asking, and he glanced over at O'Neill before slowly reaching into his pocket and handing over his cell, careful to keep his hand from touching hers as if afraid she might become even more violent.

Ignoring Kinsey who was only then storming over to demand an explanation, Buffy called in the number she had been given for emergencies. When the call was answered on the first ring she asked to speak to Hammond. Ignoring West's frown, she impatiently waited through the momentary delay before she was transferred to the SGC commander. "George, it's Buffy, and things are about to go to hell in a handbasket. I'm serious about this: Rodeo Arcade. Right now."

As she spoke she stared directly into West's eyes, wondering if it would be one shock too many, but was impressed when the man seemed to be thinking things through, ignoring the distraction of Kinsey's incessant ranting to consider what had happened, what he could see with Berklyn, and the implications of Buffy's call to Hammond. No more than a few seconds passed before he sighed and held out his hand for the cell. Knowing she was taking a big chance, but knowing too that she couldn't prevent it, Buffy handed him the phone and waited as he identified himself to his subordinate. Then, to Buffy's profound relief, he made the call. "The order is valid. Follow the protocol, General Hammond. Seal the Mountain."

There was a sudden, stunned silence among those witnessing the event. Since it was built, Cheyenne Mountain had been sealed from the outside world exactly twice; during the Cuban Missile Crisis, and on 9/11. Even Kinsey's mouth dropped in shock that the NORAD commander would reiterate and approve Buffy's code phrase. They were about to get even more surprised, as West continued. "Don't worry about Glen; he outranks you but he also knows that the Arcade variant of Rodeo falls into your bailiwick. _You_ are in command. I would suggest that you let him handle the standard stuff while you concentrate on whatever it is Buffy thinks is about to fall on us, but it's your call. Get out a pencil and write this down." A second later he ran off a string of numbers. "That's the combination to my safe. All of the codes are in there. Use them at your discretion."

As he spoke the final sentence he looked directly at Kinsey. For the first time since the initial shock at Buffy's display of violence there was dead silence in the room, as the high-powered guests finally figured out that the NORAD commander had effectively given someone else the power to start a nuclear war. Until that moment not even the politicians had realized the situation was so serious, the stakes so high. "You are authorized and directed to go to Defcon 2 and remain in that condition until and unless the requirements and restrictions of the Arcade protocol have been fulfilled. Please confirm." When he got the required response, West once again ignored Kinsey's outraged demands for an explanation and handed the phone back to Buffy.

She could see Berklyn twitching and knew she was running out of time, so grabbed the phone and spoke quickly. "They have some kind of mind control ability. You're probably going to get a call in about five minutes from the Vice President, Kinsey, probably even West himself demanding that you stand down. _Don't do it_! Follow the protocol; that's what it was designed for. Don't trust anyone outside the Mountain until this is over; not West, not even me. Gotta go." She hung up, returned the phone to West and looked over at O'Neill. "We need to get out of here. While we still can."

But it was already too late. Berklyn was stirring, and whatever power he possessed were not impaired by his confusion upon regaining consciousness. The awareness she had seen in West's and O'Neill's eyes rapidly faded into a confused dullness, which she knew would be quickly followed by outrage as the vampire-type-thing masquerading as a billionaire industrialist regained his faculties and commanded his human robots to subdue her. With no time to discuss or debate, she lashed out again with her deceptively powerful fist, almost enjoying the opportunity to legitimately knock out O'Neill, and lifted his collapsing body onto her shoulders in a fireman's carry position. Then she ran, ignoring the shouts following her, the demands that she stop. When anyone got in her way she simply bowled them over, running through those obstacles she couldn't bounce around.

Quickly escaping the house, she ran to the colonel's jeep, dropped him in the passenger seat, and frantically searched his pockets for the keys. Someone tried to grab hold of her when she rushed over to the driver's side, but she belted whoever it was without even pausing to think about it and got in, started the vehicle, and hit the gas. The jeep didn't have much power but it had awesome traction, and she used it to maximum effect, driving across the manicured lawn, destroying flower beds and crashing through garden walls in order to get out of the estate as fast as possible. Even by her standards she was driving insanely, but she could feel herself second guessing her decision, when she knew damned well it had been the right call. Even at this distance she could feel the effects of the thrall, as Berklyn regained consciousness and used all of his formidable power to command her to stop and return to the mansion.

There was absolutely no way in hell she intended to go back. Driving across lanes and through traffic as speeds no one who wasn't escaping the devil himself would consider sane, Buffy went through three red lights and probably caused half a dozen accidents before she calmed down enough to reduce her speed to something reasonable. She was still frightened, but even more aware of the fact that the mayor and police chief had been among the guests at the party and would quickly be on the phone demanding that all municipal resources be deployed to find and apprehend her. Before that happened she needed a place to hide. Fortunately she had plenty of recent experience with the process, so made for one of the locations she had already scouted when she was looking for a hideout the last time the entire world tried to find her and toss her svelte ass into prison.

She was driving along a side road, at a nice sedate pace, when O'Neill regained consciousness. After letting him vent for a few minutes over being knocked out, Buffy had enough of the rant and glared at him. "I've got two words for you: 'bug' and 'eating.' Because that was what you were in for if I'd left you there, mister! I have it on good authority that the whole 'butt-monkey' experience sucks the big one."

Since there was very little he could say to debate that, O'Neill settled for mumbling insults under his breath as he massaged his jaw and tried to get his head to stop ringing. Despite the act, his mind was racing, considering the implications of what he had seen, how he had behaved while under the control of… whatever it had been. He'd faced alien invasions before. He knew damned well he was facing one now. "Any idea what we're up against?"

Buffy frowned. "Aside from the Dracula thing, I've never come across anything like this. But I heard about something similar. Bitch-goddess named Jasmine wanted to take over the world. Used some kind of mind control to force everyone in L.A. to worship her. Brain-sucked them behind closed doors, you probably won't be surprised to hear. She 'fed' on the mental energy of her acolytes or something, leaving them dead husks. Some people even thought it was a fair trade. She enforced peace, made everyone happy. Terrific stuff if you don't have any interest in the whole 'free will' concept. Had this really fun talent where she could make someone's flesh rot off at the merest touch. Also, she was actually this sorta tentacled energy being, just pretending to appear human. She had this 'worshipper-in-chief' who was made out of rock. Big, vicious demon dude. Horns, cloven feet, the whole nine yards. Bullets would bounce right off of him. He brought about a rain of fire, blocked out the sun. Really apocalyptic stuff. An old boyfriend of mine killed it with a skewer made out of its own rocky flesh. Kinda gross, actually."

Just staring at her for a few seconds, Jack finally spoke. "Has anyone ever told you that your world is a really… _strange_ place?"

"Yeah. Problem is, _your_ world is about to experience first hand the fun and amusement that we take for granted back home."

There wasn't a whole lot O'Neill could say about that. "So is Berklyn the god or the demon?"

Shrugging, Buffy spoke while looking around for a parking space. "I sure didn't get any sense that he was a Godlike _being_, just that he thought he was a godlike _human_. The same attitude as Denneck, only writ large. Definitely not in the same league as the First, or even Glory, if he's the Big Bad. I'd bet big money he isn't though. I just got the impression that despite his contempt for us, he was a worshipper, not the worshippee. Slightly cuter than the Beast if he's the main acolyte… but the Beast didn't have the thrall. So who knows how high he is on their pecking order."

"Any guesses on how far away you'd have to be to be out of range of the 'thrall?' "

Shrugging once more, Buffy pulled the jeep into a parking spot at the side of a residential street before turning to face O'Neill. "Depends. When he was messing with the heads of everyone in the area, the real effect didn't lock in until we were about 20 feet away. But I could feel him trying to make me come back when we were a couple of hundred yards from the mansion. I don't think he was manipulating anyone else when he did that; he was focusing all of his power on me. To put it into perspective, Jasmine could control everyone in the Greater LA Basin." She saw his expression, and knew him well enough to guess his train of thought. "If you're thinking about shooting him from across the road, I'd guess his staff might have something to say about that. There was a glowing thing on the end of it. Glowing things usually means that guns won't have much of an effect on the people holding them. That's why I've never gotten into the whole gun deal. Too many of the things I hunt can find a glowing thing of their own. I've discovered, though, that there's not much a glowing thing can do to stop a stake to the sternum."

O'Neill was a bit worried that her explanation actually made sense. They'd noted that the Slayer had little interest in guns, and assumed it was just a traditional aspect of her work. He had also noted Berklyn's staff, and from what he'd seen of the capabilities of alien staffs, he didn't much doubt her assessment. "You think the SGC is buried deep enough that their mind control abilities won't affect them?"

"Yes." Her response was instant, her tone certain. When O'Neill just raised an eyebrow questioningly she explained. "If it isn't; we're screwed. So I'm going with a resounding 'yes' on that one."

That sounded reasonable enough to O'Neill, so he just nodded. "Why'd you park here?" He looked around for something that might be a safe house, but turned back when Buffy reached into the back cargo area of the jeep and hauled up a small civilian-style backpack.

"This is where I leave you." She waited for him to object, but he just sat there, waiting for her to explain. Either he trusted her a lot more than she thought, or he'd already reached a few conclusions on his own. "Its real hard to kill a Slayer once she's been exposed to whatever power her opponent possesses, and has developed an immunity to it. I thought my experience with Dracula would be enough, but obviously not. I'm going to have to get closer to this thing, keep an eye on it, see if I can get used to it, hopefully build up my resistance to it. But there's no way you ever will be able to, and if you're with me it would make you betray me. So time for me to bail on you."

As she prepared to leave the jeep O'Neill asked a final question. "You're psychic. You saw the Gao'uld invasion coming. Did you see this?"

Opening the door, Buffy didn't look at him as she exited the vehicle, but spoke more to herself than the Colonel. "I don't know what's coming." She paused, before finally turning to face him. "But all day I've been smelling the scent of jasmine. I think a God is about to make a visit to Colorado Springs. Something a lot of the people around here have been praying for. I don't think they're going to find it nearly as much fun as they'd hoped." Grabbing the heavy backpack, she checked for anyone watching, before running to a back alley, where she quickly disappeared from O'Neill's view.


	22. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

**Far Beyond Normal**

**Chapter Twenty One**

She wasn't sure if it was a good sign or a bad one when it was announced that the President himself would take the place of the Vice President in attending a hastily arranged conference at Space Command headquarters. His party showed up in Colorado Springs three days later, accompanied by about a division of news people. The past few days had been surreal; up there in weirdness with the First's assault on Sunnydale, but without the townsfolk realizing anything was amiss. And when she realized how she had phrased the issue, she decided that she had been watching too many Western flicks on the fancy plasma tv. The owners of the house she had appropriated as her hideout were big into John Wayne, and when she got bored watching the inane speculations on network television, Buffy had relaxed by tossing in a dvd. She was fairly certain General Hammond's friends wouldn't mind, and if she survived what would soon happen, she intended to thank them for their unwitting hospitality.

The country –the entire world—knew that something seriously weird was going on, but nobody in the know was talking. Conspiracy theories abounded, the most ridiculous speculating about attacks from outer space. Their math and credentials seemed pretty impressive to Buffy, but they were ridiculed mercilessly, as was anyone who dared challenge the 'official' explanation of a terrorist attack. So far as she could see there was an official policy of business as usual, with all the normal promises of 'hunting down those responsible.' There was even a quiet notification that Cheyenne Mountain had been closed off to all visitors until the situation stabilized. Naturally the media concentrated their attention on rescue and reconstruction efforts around the Gulf coast and Portland, but other than that, life seemed to be proceeding normally for the vast majority of the population. Yet every evening when Buffy carefully left the temporarily-vacant home she was hiding out in, she couldn't swing a dead cat without hitting a State Security agent.

Face scrunching in disgust at the expression –she wondered why anyone would want to swing a dead cat in the first place—Buffy none the less acknowledged that the point was valid. There were huge numbers of Federal agents flooding into Colorado Springs, patrolling the city at night, visible even during the daytime. Only someone with hearing as good as hers could have detected the silenced helicopters orbiting overhead, and without her extraordinary eyes few would have seen the night-vision-equipped observation posts and attendant snipers on top of just about every tall building. They were looking for her, looking _real_ hard, and Buffy was finding it quite a challenge to remain hidden from them, yet accomplish her task of acclimatizing herself to Berklyn's influence.

With so much security there was no way for her to get close to the billionaire. Her solution to that problem was to concentrate her attention on Denneck. Her father's old boss was one of about four 'acolytes' to the vastly more powerful Berklyn that she had been able to identify, possessing a small fraction of his power, but providing a similar enough example of that power for Buffy to try to get a feel for it. She remembered feeling instinctively repulsed by the man the first time they met, completely immune to the charm her father –may he develop flat feet and ingrown buttock hairs, she silently grumbled to herself —found so enchanting. So she was forced to conclude that their version of the thrall was both variable in strength, and ineffective against certain people. Whether she had a slight innate immunity or simply a far stronger will than the average person was not as important as enhancing whatever it was that provided her ability to resist their influence.

After only a few days following him, Buffy had reached the conclusion that Denneck was even sleazier and more contemptible than she had found him to be on their first meeting. He referred to his minor talent with the thrall as 'mental dominance,' and very overtly acted as if his special talent made him 'better' than mere mortals. Even when he didn't have to use his ability he did. It wasn't enough to simply _ask_ someone to get him something; he had to prove his superiority by _making_ people do things for him. Most were petty, many were illegal, and a lot were disgusting. She observed the other acolytes and found them to be the same way; self-centered, conceited, sociopathic dickheads. Whether they were that way because of the thrall, or the thrall made them that way, she didn't care. Just watching the way they treated people who couldn't defend themselves from their unique power made her hair stand on end, left her feeling an instinctive, lethal rage she had to make a deliberate effort to control. But she almost wished for one of Anya's colleagues to bring down lethal vengeance upon them.

During her observations she had discovered that there were some people who could resist their power, to varying degrees. Something about the disciplined nature of the military mind made them both the easiest and most difficult people for them to control, depending on the personality of the person they were trying to influence. She wasn't sure how they _maintained_ that control once those they enthralled left their immediate vicinity and were no longer subject to direct mental manipulation. For the moment she assumed it was something inherent in the power, a way to convince people that they had arrived at the decision themselves. Once reaching that conclusion were understandably reluctant to change their minds. Denneck's limited power wouldn't be enough to change the minds of anyone both mentally disciplined and who had already reached a different conclusion they were reluctant to alter; but if he subtly influenced the thought processes of people who were already leaning in the direction he wanted them to go, he was capable of causing even random strangers to perform radically extreme actions. What someone like Berklyn could do given his vastly greater powers terrified her.

It was also apparent they were being careful not to be too blatant in the use of their powers. Behind closed doors they could –and most emphatically did—indulge their perversions. Out in the open, with the possibility of someone they couldn't influence watching, they tried to be more circumspect. Which she figured was good news. If there were enough of them, they could easily dominate the world. The fact that they hadn't so far meant they didn't think they were sufficiently powerful. Yet.

When she considered the implications of their power, her concern over what should be done about it grew. She could almost feel her fear cascade once she let it gain a foothold. When she realized what was happening she was able to gain enough control of herself to sneak away, but it had been a close call. Had Berklyn been around, they would have had her, that easily, that quickly. She had no idea why they would work with fear but not with equivalent emotions such as anger. She recalled being a bit concerned when she was first introduced to the billionaire, worried that if he was able to screw with the minds of someone like O'Neill, he might be able to do the same to her. It was that moment of self-doubt, the tiniest flicker of fear, that Berklyn had used to get inside her head. Not literally; he obviously hadn't read her mind. If he knew what she was, there'd be a whole lot bigger slayer-hunt going on. But it had been enough to turn her into one of his zombies, until a momentary flash of anger permitted her to regain control of herself.

The whole 'fear-leads-to-anger-leads-to-Darth Vader' concept seemed a bit too simplistic, but when she tested it, there was little doubt that the more frightened she was, the more susceptible she was to their power. The angrier she got, the less she could be influenced. Buffy wasn't sure how that translated over to non-Slayers, but knew what it meant for her. When dealing with… whatever these people were… she was going to have to unleash her Slayer aspect more than she felt comfortable with. The Slayer wasn't afraid of _anything_, mostly because it was too dumb to be scared of things that could kill it deader'n hell. It was the human who provided the brains, and Buffy didn't want to get into a fight where her only weapon was bestial savagery. She'd fought too many things that were stronger than her, defeating them because she out-smarted them, to be comfortable giving up the advantage her experience and intellect conferred.

Three days of planning and observation came to an end as the President and his entourage flew into the Colorado Springs airport. The city airport shared runways with Peterson Air Force Base, which assumed control of the entire facility for the visit. Security was heavy, and Buffy made no attempt to break in, content to watch the event on television. The media were really hyping the visit, promising a major announcement, and Buffy turned up the sound while she grabbed some munchies from the fridge. Until the Pres was ready to make whatever 'major announcement' he intended to make, the media were filling in the time reading assorted facts and figures, including stuff she hadn't known. Like the fact that Peterson AFB was the headquarters for NORAD, not Cheyenne Mountain, like she'd assumed. The Mountain just housed the main Operations Center. And they ran the base at Thule, Greenland out of Peterson, which was kinda cool since it was, y'know, Greenland.

Munching down on baby carrots and broccoli stems, Buffy made herself comfortable, bare feet tucked up under her butt as she relaxed on the couch. Air Force One came in, cameras following it along with the jets escorting the big plane. There was the usual ceremonial rigmarole after it landed, with a herd of local dignitaries and political apparatchiks waiting in line to be recognized and gain their moment in the public eye. Finally the pleasantries were completed, the necessary asses having been kissed, and the President of the United States got behind a lectern, his official seal carefully in place, and smiled as if he was looking at people in the audience rather than into the camera.

He wasn't anyone Buffy recognized, the ex-Governor of a southern State she hadn't paid any attention to back home, but she doubted this guy had much to do with inventing the internet, which was about all she remembered about the President back home. She was more interested in the faces in the background of the televised picture, and soon she made out Berklyn, Denneck, and about a dozen of the guests from West's ill-fated party. West himself sat in the picture frame, naturally wearing his full dress uniform, and from the expression on his face Buffy got the impression Berklyn was keeping a pretty tight leash on the general. It wasn't hard to figure out why, when the President began his speech by acknowledging that the recent explosions over the Caribbean, Gulf, and Pacific had been caused by shots fired from an alien spacecraft.

The silence from the gathered throng was deafening. Even watching on television, Buffy was stunned into silence. She was fairly certain that governments didn't usually just blurt out secrets of such magnitude without carefully preparing the population with controlled leaks, hints as to what might be in store. As if that wasn't enough, he went on to talk about the SGC, its function, and the Goa'uld threat. It was a pretty good speech, filled with examples of 'derring-do' without minimizing the danger the Snakes represented, but Buffy still amazed that, after years of secrecy, they were just dropping the whole mess into the public arena in one fell swoop. Given Berklyn's presence, it was obvious that his group had a lot to do with the decision to do so.

Conveniently enough, the President provided an explanation for the change in policy soon after going over the problem. "Despite the devastating losses suffered by our nation and our planet during the Goa'uld attack last week, it has led to an extraordinarily fortunate result. Our ability to defend ourselves from an invasion by one of the galaxy's most powerful races has captured the attention of other races which have been resisting the Goa'uld onslaught. One of these races has offered us the opportunity to form an alliance, and as a demonstration of their good faith they are prepared to grant us substantial technological advancements which will enable us to defend the planet even more successfully going forward. This is an absolutely critical opportunity, which my administration feels cannot be delayed, particularly as we will be receiving considerable technical assistance even before terms of the alliance have been finalized.

"Some of you might be wondering what the Jar'en –our new allies refer to themselves as the Jar'en—some might be wondering why they are willing to offer us so much desperately needed assistance without any guarantees of receiving anything from us in return. This is easy to explain. Having a powerful ally such as ourselves will divert Goa'uld resources, automatically easing the burden which until now had been faced by the Jar'en alone. It is true that by increasing our technological capabilities our own planet becomes more of a threat to the Goa'uld, and will therefore almost certainly result in our becoming the target of ever increasing efforts by those monsters to enslave us. However, my advisors are unanimous in believing that this was inevitable, regardless of our alliance with the Jar'en. We were able to force them off last week, but only at a terribly high cost, and only by exerting our own defensive technologies to their absolute limit. Should the Goa'uld resume their attack, the outcome next time might not be so successful.

"Under the circumstances I have accepted the Jar'en offer to send an ambassador to Earth for further consultation and negotiations on a military alliance in an effort to oppose Goa'uld aggression. I can inform you that the leaders of other nations on Earth have already been made aware of the Goa'uld threat, and they will be welcome to attend these negotiations. Our entire planet is at risk: it is only reasonable that other nations have a voice in determining how we will defend it. However, given our familiarity with the situation, and our preponderance of military resources, it will most assuredly be the United States which takes the lead in this effort. As such, the ambassador has consented to come to the United States for _preliminary_ negotiations before we open the door to input from other nations. These preliminary negotiations are merely to provide a framework, an opportunity for us to get a general consensus on the nature of our respective obligations, an idea of what each side is prepared to offer the alliance. These preliminary negotiations will begin today, right here in fact, just as soon as the Jar'en ambassador arrives. Which should be… oh, right about now, actually."

The television screen switched from the President to show a small black dot high in the sky, slowly increasing in size as it approached, obviously coming in for a landing. Sighing, Buffy turned it off, straightened up the slight mess she had made while camping out in someone else's basement, before picking up the phone and dialing a number she had been saving for just this moment. Fortunately it was picked up quickly, despite the person at the other end not expecting the call. "Hi, Mark. It's Buffy Summers. I need a favor…" Suspecting that vast government surveillance resources would be devoted to monitoring every phone call for her voice, she kept the call short, then grabbed her backpack and left the house. It would take her about twenty minutes to reach the airport. She'd timed it, preparing for just this moment.

* * *

Like probably most of the planet, she watched the dropship come in, looking about as aerodynamic as a brick, but just sufficiently sci-fi-_ish_ to satisfy the geeks in the audience. Seeing it live was probably less impressive than watching it on tv would have been, since she didn't get the benefit of close-ups or multiple angles. And, naturally, buildings and other assorted impediments blocked the line of sight, so she wasn't able to see the ship land, the dramatic opening of the hatch, the first public viewing of an alien being setting foot on the planet earth. Which was probably just as well, since she had done something similar recently, so wouldn't have been nearly as impressed as most of the rapturous audience.

She'd debated the idea of arriving at the airfield before the ship arrived, while it arrived, or after it had landed and the festivities concluded, and still wasn't sure if she'd reached the proper conclusion. It was another thing she'd have liked to have been able to talk over with an expert, but there was no way she would risk using a telephone when they probably had some serious hardware tapped into every communications system in existence, looking for her. She wasn't even willing to carry a cell phone, knowing how they could be triangulated even when turned off using the built-in GPS chip. Which made things inconvenient when she knew some of the best military minds in the country, but couldn't risk talking to any of them. So she'd thought things through carefully, considered the options for each alternative, and finally reached a decision to wait until things had settled down before putting in her appearance. Which is precisely what she would have done if she hadn't bothered to game out her plan of action, and had just gone with her gut instinct. The truth was, she really did prefer to make a Big Entrance, and was pleased that she'd been able to justify talking herself into making one.

Listening to a local radio station as she approached the airport, she wasn't surprised to hear the banal greetings and pretentious ceremonies she had expected to mark the occasion. Hopefully, it would be long enough and boring enough to let Berklyn's people settle in, and not pay as much attention to her attempt to gain entrance as they might have otherwise. That was the plan anyway, which Buffy put to the test as she calmly walked up to the entrance gate where heavily armed soldiers were handling the challenge of ensuring that nobody was allowed in who might be out to harm the President, but permitting entrance to approved guests and media. She was betting that Berklyn's group had monitored the traffic pretty closely earlier, but by this point would be concentrating their efforts elsewhere. So instead of dealing with people under the thrall, she'd simply be dealing with Special Forces troops and Secret Service agents out to protect the President.

Piece of cake.

Walking up to one of the heavily-armed guards standing in front of the closed chain-link gate, she gestured to the pink ID card hanging on a chain around her neck. "Hi. I'm Buffy Summers. I believe Congressman Kessleton is expecting me."

There were at least a dozen guards, and the seriousness of the situation could be accurately judged by the fact that they were all looking at the metal hammer she carried hanging from a shoulder strap, rather than her leather-covered ass. She was almost indignant about that. Not to mention slightly concerned that her spectacular butt, once fully capable of diverting the attention of any red-blooded male no matter the distraction offered by relatively trivial issues such as the safety of The Leader of The Free World, might be losing its effectiveness, or even, horror of horrors, becoming _fat_. Before she could get too panicked about the possibility, her line of thought was diverted when one of the guards brought up a communications device and called over a senior officer.

He ran over quickly. "I'm sorry ma'am, but we've been instructed to temporarily deny you entrance."

"I'm sure that was a mistake on someone's part, Major. Perhaps you could ask the congressman." She was hoping that with Berklyn's attention now diverted, they might be persuaded to let her in, especially with a U.S. congressman standing right there, demanding that she be granted entrance. It was fortunate the major knew who she was, or at least had heard of her, and when the Secret Service agent at the gate shrugged, indicating she wasn't on _his_ watch list, they let her through.

The congressman was an older, fitter version of his son, who shook her hand with a politicians' calibrated enthusiasm, but looked her over with a father's eyes. Buffy tried to ignore it. She had never been very sexually promiscuous, so this was the first time she'd ever been in a situation where she had come into contact with the parent of someone she'd slept with. It was rather uncomfortable to be looked at as 'the bimbo who took my son's virginity instead of the way men had always looked at her in the past. "Thank you for agreeing to meet me, Congressman."

He smiled at her, and few people would have even noticed that his eyes were coolly assessing. But father or not, this was still a politician. "The name is Dan. I owe you, Miss Summers. I owe you more than I can ever repay. Even so, I would really appreciate some assurance that I'm not going to regret this."

That CYA statement brought a wry smile to her face. "I'm pretty sure you've read my file. So it probably won't come as much of a surprise when I say that the chances of you regretting it will probably be about 100."

He chuckled, not pretending he didn't understand what she was implying. "I saw you at General West's party. I was going to introduce myself, before the… unpleasantness. To thank you for saving my son. I _have_ read your file, Miss Summers, and know I should thank you for much more than just my own personal reasons. But that's political. I wanted to thank _you_, as a father. I don't know what you intend on doing here, but I expect it will be something appropriately spectacular. Or _in_appropriately spectacular, as the case may be. But whatever happens, none of it matters a damn compared to the most important words I can ever say; thank you for saving my son."

There wasn't much Buffy could say to that, so she simply nodded, and sat in silence as his chauffeur drove them from the gate to the reviewing stand. She noticed one of the television cameras following them as they approached, and waited until the chauffeur opened the door before getting out of the vehicle. Secret Service agents surrounded her when they saw the hammer. The activity didn't go unnoticed, and the President broke off his prepared speech when he saw who had arrived. To her amazement, he seemed genuinely happy to see her.

"Ah, Miss Summers! I am delighted to see you were able to make it back from your trip to the Asgard Homeworld in time for the ceremonies. Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor to introduce you to Buffy Summers. Buffy was instrumental in our ability to withstand the recent Goa'uld invasion attempt. Make no mistake about it; all of us here today are alive only because of Miss Summers' unique talents. Billions of people survived the attack only because she was able to help us last week. And this wasn't the first time she has quite literally saved the world. For many reasons her work has until now been kept secret, but in order to fully describe the most recent attack, and how we were able to defeat it, there is no way we could possibly keep Miss Summers' contribution from coming to the forefront. Since it will come out anyway, I am proud to use this opportunity to finally give her the recognition she has more than earned, and the public accolades long past due. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Miss Buffy Summers. You will be hearing a great deal about her in the near future."

Buffy stood there while the movers and shakers dutifully applauded, feeling like an idiot. She remembered the spontaneous, and far more genuine, time when she was awarded a tacky, hand-made trophy as 'Class Protector,' and knew which she preferred. Especially since she wasn't certain what the point was of making her the center of attention, when Berklyn had to know why she was putting in an appearance. The only thing she could think of was that the new alien ambassador had wanted to see her, because she had less than no doubt that he and the industrialist were working together. Having seen Berklyn in his true form, she couldn't help but notice how much the ambassador resembled him.

His skin was almost vampire-pale, but his hair still retained a brownish tint. He didn't smile, and his eyes had the focused intensity of a hunting eagle, or a religious fanatic. Despite the pasty-white skin he was a very handsome man; firm jaw, good bone structure, very tall, an in-your-face toughness that was probably backed up by fanatical intensity. He wore a long, slimming cloak-like garment, sort of like Neo wore in the Matrix sequels, except he also was decked out in a fancy gold necklace with some kind of fancy pendant hanging from it. He was studying her, but there was no indication of the mental domination efforts Buffy could feel coming from Berklyn and his coterie of less powerful sycophants. The President was saying something, but neither Buffy, Berklyn, nor the ambassador paid him the slightest heed. Only seconds passed before the stalemate was broken as the ambassador tapped his staff on the concrete runway several times, the President's speech quickly silenced as the glowing blue crystal atop his staff began to shine ever brighter, the light extending towards Buffy like a diffuse blue flashlight.

That light never reached her. It got close, but seemed to fade a few feet away, the bright intensity of the light beginning to disperse in glowing tendrils, as if seeking a way to penetrate the bubble of insubstantial force preventing the light from reaching Buffy. His glare turned into an expression of offended rage at the indignity of the failure. Ignoring the confused glances coming from the President, he addressed Buffy, noticing that she had drawn the hammer from its sling and was holding it tightly in her hand by the handle. "The hammer is Asgard?"

Buffy nodded. "That it is. Thor's hammer. It even has a name. They called it 'Moldy-near' or something like that."

He glanced over at Berklyn, but snapped his eyes away quickly, before anyone except Buffy noticed. "I was not aware that Asgard technology had progressed so far."

Buffy smiled, but nobody could mistake the hard smile for amusement. "You must have been worried about the possibility though, because you decided to invade earth before tackling the Asgard." She ignored the murmurs in the background as the crowd heard the accusation. And like the alien, she ignored the President, who seemed confused by the confrontation which had unexpectedly erupted. Had she not been so furious she would have been knocked flat by the intensity of the effort Berklyn was making to control her mind. Since he was concentrating fully on her, he was less able to influence the crowd, and if any of the three people involved in the sudden confrontation had any attention to spare, they would have realized that a whole lot of people were suddenly having second thoughts concerning the whole ceremony. Or forming an alliance with someone who looked as creepy as the ambassador. "Thor used the hammer to disguise himself as a Viking. Like this…" She squeezed the pommel of the hammer, and there was an even louder murmur from the audience as she suddenly appeared as a six foot tall Viking warrior-maiden. Another squeeze and she was back to Buffy. "It also does the reverse. Shows people what's really hiding behind the disguise."

Turning to face the dignitaries seated behind the presidential podium, Buffy raised the hammer, pointed it at Berklyn, and let it do its thing. There were shouts from the crowd on the opposite side, behind the cameras, where a mostly-military audience was seated on temporary bleachers, as the industrialist was suddenly revealed in all of his pale, vampire-esque glory. A fraction of a second later the pressure on Buffy's mind disappeared, and the dignitaries looked around in confusion, once again seeing their old acquaintance as Berklyn used his power to affect their minds. But the camera wasn't affected, and those viewing at home realized that the 'Jar'en' had a spy on earth. Even the most benign allies found it difficult to explain away an attempt to infiltrate the upper reaches of their supposed allies society.

Having made her point, Buffy returned her attention to the ambassador. He looked livid, which she was beginning to get the idea was a pretty normal state of affairs when it came to him. "So what's the real scoop here, Mork? And don't give me any of this 'Jar'en' crap. If the Goold were fighting anyone else, we'd know about it. Aside from the Asgard, Earth is the only powerful external enemy they have faced in centuries. Howcum Berklyn has the power of the thrall and you don't? And while we're at it, where the hell does Dennick fit into your plans?"

It never hurt to ask. But –surprise, surprise—the alien did not accommodate her request for information. Despite his anger, and his being an alien, his diction was precise, the accent more British than American. "Preliminary reconnaissance did not indicate the Asgard possessed any technologies capable of resisting the coercive mental abilities of the Priors."

They were assuming it was the hammer which made her resistant to the thrall, which was a relief, since it was exactly what Buffy wanted them to think. "Priors? Is Berklyn a _Prior_? Like a religious figure? 'Cause, y'know, from what I saw, Berklyn ain't exactly a monk. _Reeeal_ warped dude in the bedroom, from what I overheard. We're talking major gross-age here."

The alien ignored her words. "Resistance to the influence of a Prior is _forbidden_! Young races must be guided along the path to Ascension. Obedience is required. You will cease the use of such technologies immediately."

After snorting delicately, Buffy glared at him. "Yeah, that's gonna happen. Since when did we need _you_ to show us how to Ascend? Or even decide if we _want_ to."

For a second he looked confused that she would actually question his right to make such decisions. "Ascension is the goal of all races. The desirability of disposing of the requirement for a vessel of mortal flesh to become One with the universe is fundamental to the evolution of every race."

"Not mine. Sorry, dude, but my goal is to fight evil, defeat the forces of darkness, and resist the encroachment of cellulite. But, if I _did_ want to 'ascend,' you're the _last_ person I'd be asking about how to do it. No offence, but the pasty skin, the weird eyes, the bad hair and gruesome scars on your face? Not exactly signs of enlightenment. Or even good hygiene. The Asgard are about a million years more advanced than…"

The alien interrupted her, frowning thunderously, apparently ready to assault her with the sheer overwhelming force of his furrowed brow. "The Asgard are a _failed_ race! They have _failed_ in the goal of attaining Ascension! While other, seemingly lesser, races have evolved and attained Enlightenment, the Asgard have ossified, been left behind, unchanged, an object lesson in failure! Even _your_ pathetic race is greater than the Asgard, given that you at least have the _potential_ to achieve Ascension. _They_ will _never_ do so, condemned to forever remain as they are, static, stunted; evolutionary dead ends. There was some question among the Ori as to how this might be possible… it is the _destiny_ of advanced races to Ascend, or be destroyed in the attempt. For the Asgard to be sentenced to such a state of evolutionary limbo can only be regarded as a sign of the most horrific punishment imposed by those already Ascended.

"I now understand how this could happen, how they came to be caught in such a failed state. The ability to resist those who seek to guide them towards enlightenment is the object of their downfall. For them to pass on such as device to you can only be an effort on their part to enable your own inevitable failure. A form of infecting you with their own disease so they need no longer be alone in their miserable, unending, flesh-bound existence. You will give me the hammer. It must be cleansed, its principles studied, its effects neutralized, before your entire race is doomed to suffer the eternal torment of those denied the enlightenment of Ascension."

Twisting the hammer in circles using wrist action alone, Buffy glared at the alien. "Not going to happen. We don't need to be 'saved,' and we sure as hell don't need to be saved by the sort of assholes you have chosen to represent your religious tenets. Thor might be a 'miserable evolutionary failure' but at least he isn't a complete dickhead like Dennick. By the way, you still haven't explained what him and the three other human assholes up there on the podium are doing for you guys. Besides sucking up to Berklyn, I mean. Are they, like, Priors In Training? Because let me tell you, if they are the sort of people your precious Ori are looking to as candidates for the job, it's not a sign that you're exactly looking for our best or our brightest."

A lot was happening in the crowd, but Buffy was too busy to pay much attention to it. Secret Service agents had surrounded the President, but he refused to leave, still held in thrall to Berklyn or his acolytes. There were so many people around they shouldn't have been able to maintain such control, but most of the audience was afraid, realized they'd been tricked, and as Buffy had leaned, fear made people easier for the Prior's to control. But away from the VIP area, outside of the range of influence, the audience was getting restless, armed guards were approaching, the on-call Special Forces unit stationed at Peterson AFB already on alert due to the high-level visit and uncertain what was happening or who the enemy might be. They would soon find the answer to that question.

The alien 'ambassador' tried to use his staff thing again, and once again whatever effect he hoped it might have was dissipated by the hammer before it could touch her. Obviously pissed off by the failure, he waved the staff in the air, and a large speaker set up to let the audience listen in to the President's speech was lifted into the air, as if by magic, and suddenly flung with tremendous force directly towards Buffy… only to meet the invisible force field surrounding her and bounce away, its intended target completely unaffected by the impact. He glared at Belynk, who released his influence on the rest of the VIP's to concentrate his thrall powers on one of the armed guards, who suddenly looked horrified, as if he had seen something too terrible to contemplate, and almost quicker than the eye could see raised his rifle and fired directly at Buffy.

A fraction of a second later he was dead, the bullet ricocheting from the force field, returning on an exact reciprocal with no loss of kinetic energy. The shot stampeded the crowd, the VIP's leaping for cover, troops suddenly running towards them. Another shot rang out as Berklyn's mental power forced another armed guard to fire, with the exact same results. Realizing that such weapons would be ineffective against the defenses enabled by the hammer, the alien ambassador marched towards her intending a more direct attack. Buffy had been maintaining the function on the hammer which prevented Berklyn's human guise from reasserting itself, wanting the television audience see what he really was. But when the ambassador approached, she moved the hammer towards him without releasing the function, not even thinking about it, not expecting it to reveal anything. The alien already looked like an alien, after all.

But she soon discovered that the humanoid alien guise was as false as Berklyn's human one had been, and Buffy just about wet herself when the real ambassador was revealed to her, and everyone else's, disbelieving eyes. She'd heard the story from Faith, she'd even warned O'Neill, but she hadn't really _believed_ it, even with all the hints. Shocked screams from the panicking crowd made it pretty clear she wasn't the only one seeing something out of a nightmare.

Faith had called it a Rock Beast. Easily eight feet tall, maybe nine to the tips of two twisted horns growing from its forehead. A deceptively human face and torso atop massive, goat-like legs. Black as obsidian, light reflecting from a million facets of it dark, crystalline skin. Buffy gulped in sudden terror, only the barely-leashed rage of the Slayer preventing her from being enthralled by a watching Berklyn. The Slayer wanted to attack, its usual default tactic, but this time Buffy overrode the instinctive response. She knew Faith had done exactly that, and nearly been killed for the error. Despite its appearance, the Rock Beast could move its massive arms with incredible speed, and possessed even more strength than it size and mass might suggest. Faith had been pretty emphatic that attacking the Beast as if it was merely a bigger, uglier, 'rock-ier' vampire was an invitation to suicide.

Carefully backing away, Buffy kept an eye on its huge legs, suspecting it could move them as fast as its arms should the occasion warrant the energy expenditure. Hoping to delay a fight, she tried to talk herself out of the disaster suddenly fallen into her lap. Unlike Faith, if she went down there was no Angelus around to bail her out. "How many other races have you done this to? Bring in a Prior to influence the gullible, searching for people like Dennick who have an innate ability for the thrall, the ability to influence others just with the power of their minds? Suck up to them, make them feel special, _better_ than anyone else, their powers automatically making them superior to other people, their friends and neighbors suddenly toys to be manipulated for their own amusement. Then I'll bet you give them the full Prior treatment, with the pale skin and weird eyes, and they find out what it's really like to be in thrall to _your_ lord and master. Who is it? Who do you worship, Beast? Is it Jasmine?"

For the first time she managed to confuse him. The massive creature stopped its inexorable advance, and surprisingly human eyes gazed down at her. "_Jasmine_? Who is this Jasmine you speak of? I am the Doci, he who speaks the words of the Ori. You would do well to submit, woman. You are as nothing to the power of the Ori. You have no hope. One small hammer will not fend off me, or the Ori, for very long."

"Maybe not. But I can run real fast. And a hammer isn't the only weapon the Asgard gave me."

The Rock Beast –or the Doci, as he had referred to himself—could see her eyes looking around, studying the ground, assessing the tactical layout. Yes, she could retreat. But allowing her to run away wasn't the will of the Ori. And additional human forces were arriving on the scene, more than the Prior and his acolytes would be able to control. It was time to cease playing with these creatures, to bring them within the benevolent dominion of the Ori. "Enough of this foolishness. My starship is approaching. It possesses more power than is produced by your entire planet, armed with weapons beyond the capacity of your science to understand, the ability of your defenses to resist. Cease this futile resistance. The domination of the Ori is inevitable. It is _necessary_. It is for your own good."

Keeping herself out of his range, the hammer held up in front of herself threateningly, Buffy smiled thinly, no longer afraid, barely even noticing Berklyn's efforts to control her now that battle had been joined. "Whenever someone tells me that it's 'for my own good' I pretty much take it as a given that it's for _someone else's_ own good. So here's some advice… for your own good, natch. Don't bring your ship down. We're not as dumb and helpless as you think."

The Doci smirked, unimpressed. "Your defenses are as nothing. Unlike the foolish Goa'uld, we are aware that _you_, and you alone, were all that prevented them from conquering this planet. However, even your abilities will not save you from our wrath. We know of the failure of Xerxes. We know of the Goa'uld counter measures to the Legion guns. Everything has been considered. You are defenseless against us."

He stopped speaking when he saw the triumphant light in Buffy's smile. It was time for her to spring her own surprise, and hope like hell it worked out the way she and the Asgard had planned it. "We know about the problem with the Legion guns too. Did you really think we wouldn't do anything about it?"

"There is nothing you can do about the flaw…"

Buffy interrupted, smiling, eyes just as hard as the rock forming her opponents' skin. "_We_ can't; but the Asgard _can_. Do your really think I wouldn't have asked them to?"

For the first time there was something in his eyes beyond fanatical confidence, as he looked up to the sky, where the dim dot of his mighty starship was already visible in the far distance. But, also for the first time, he was suddenly concerned about something else in the far distance, something visible even from their location at the airport. Off to the west, everyone could suddenly see that the top of Cheyenne Mountain was opening.

The Legion gun was deploying, and preparing to take its first shot in anger.


	23. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

**Far Beyond Normal**

**Chapter Twenty Two**

General George Hammond was shocked to see Sif step into the War room. Having seen the Asgard enter the Stargate and return home four days earlier, its sudden appearance in the 'Gate control room was unexpected, to say the least. Especially since they had locked down the StarGate ever since Buffy had declared the Rodeo Arcade code-phrase for reporting an alien invasion attempt. Having General West back up her call gave Hammond the cover to get away with following the exact letter of the protocol, despite West himself, and then others up to and including the President demanding he unseal the mountain only minutes afterwards. But it wasn't his career Hammond was worried about. He had been fully prepared to retire years earlier, after he received his first star. Having the safety of the human race dependent on his decisions was turning out to be a whole lot more fun in theory than in practice. The consequences of making the wrong call were becoming far too familiar ever since he had accepted a routine assignment to close down a failed experiment known as the SGC.

He had hoped Buffy had been wrong, but trusted her instincts enough to implement the Arcade protocol even before West had seconded her warning. Three uneventful days later, with no sign of alien incursion and ever increasing political pressure to terminate the protocol, had started to make him question his stand. But the shocking disclosure by the President, and then the even more shocking charges brought about by Buffy Summers, all witnessed by much of the human race on live television, made it clear that a great many lives would depend on the decisions he made in the next few minutes. The warning that an unknown alien spacecraft had uncloaked and was entering Earth's atmosphere just clinched that impression.

Sif's shocking appearance came just as Buffy, appearing on their main monitor, revealed to the monstrous alien ambassador that she had asked the Asgard to tweak the Legion gun. Hammond had been about to deploy the gun anyway, without much hope that it would have any effect, until Buffy's words gave him a sudden burst of confidence. He glanced over at the Asgard, feeling no need to ask Sif to confirm Buffy's claim. Her appearance in the Mountain spoke more than loud enough.

It was with considerable relief that he would be able to carry out the job he had been charged with; protecting the planet from alien incursion. "Sergeant, target the alien ship… and _fire_!" It was the most satisfying order he had ever given.

* * *

The Legion gun used the same principle as the Avenger cannon, but in a more compact, shorter-range adaptation, optimized for in-atmosphere applications. The full output of a naquadah reactor was pumped into a giant superconducting capacitor, until more energy was stored than was available throughout the entire remainder of the earth combined. Legion Gun Number One had been built into the core of Cheyenne Mountain, using the space left behind when the shaft was dug to lower the StarGate into the facility. The gun was forty eight feet long, gimbaled to orient in any direction, and until then had never been fired for-real. At Hammond's order, concealed doors atop the mountain were opened, the Gun was raised, and it oriented itself as the static hum of the superconducting ring raised in intensity, the material of the ring having stored energy to the physical limit of its endurance.

Within seconds the gun was aimed, and power was suddenly released from the massive superconducting coil, entering a reaction chamber at the base of the Gun. The energy was focused, enhanced, transformed into a lance of incandescent energy bursting from the muzzle with such intensity that the very atmosphere burned into a plasma. The beam of the phased plasma discharge was coherent, invisible; but people a hundred miles away could see the atmosphere itself burn as the stupendous discharge burst, aimed like the laser beam it wasn't, reaching out to touch the approaching alien spacecraft like the finger of a particularly vengeful god.

It was a huge ship, fifty percent larger than Apophis's giant flagship. Onboard were a dozen Priors and more than a hundred thousand warriors. The ship was protected by shields designed to shrug off full-power impacts from the most powerful weapons a Goa'uld Ha'tek-class warship could throw. But what hit them was more than a hundred times more powerful than even those. The focused energy was so overwhelming it quite literally smashed into the ship hard enough to stop it in its tracks. The ship had been designed to withstand the awesome energies of combat, and its inertial dampers actually saved the crew from being crushed by the sudden decelerating force of the impact. But the shields hadn't been designed to withstand such power. They failed instantly; the shield generators fused into slag.

It took even a naquadah reactor half an hour to fully charge the superconducting capacitor, and in combat they didn't have half an hour to spare, so follow-up shots from the Legion gun were less than ten percent of the intensity of that first massive thunderbolt. But follow-up shots didn't have to worry about a shield. The first such follow-up shot burst outward four seconds after the stupendous initial shot; it blew a hole fifty centimeters wide clear through the engine room. The next shot blew the ship into a billion pieces. By the third shot, it was just vaporizing debris. There was no need for a fourth shot… but they took one anyway. Just because they could.

* * *

Buffy didn't even bother to look over her shoulder to see the action. The flash of light and thundering sonic boom told her everything she needed to know. She just looked at the massive alien, and smiled, eyes hard as flint. "_Oooops_."

The Doci glared at her with its almost human eyes. It was livid, momentarily unable to speak through the depth of its overwhelming rage. "You will be punished for this insolence! The Ori see all. They will send more ships, more powerful weapons and punish those who would deny the truth of the Origin!"

Buffy just raised an eyebrow and smirked, but was careful to keep a close eye on her massive opponent. "You sure that's a good idea, Gort? They send anything too fancy and it will attract the attention of the Replicators. Who, I'm sure you will have already noted, are immune to both the 'thrall' and to any attempts at religious conversion. But, hey, if you want to put them to the test, I say go for it."

To her annoyance, the creature seemed to be getting a grip on its temper, momentarily distracted by the violence suddenly unleashed in the crowd around them as if the destruction of the ship had been a signal. The Special Forces quick-reaction force had noticed the President wasn't moving, seen that Berklyn wasn't human, and put two and two together and added it up to equal 'Threat.' Armed Special Forces troops had a real quick solution when dealing with 'threats,' and started shooting. As Buffy had expected, Berklyn's staff created a shield which the bullets couldn't penetrate, and his thrall powers were quickly brought to bear, making the Secret Service agents see the Special Forces as a threat to the President. Given that both sides were highly skilled marksmen, casualties mounted rapidly, the civilians were panicking, and the situation was rapidly spiraling out of control.

Buffy knew what she had to do. She also knew she was going to get hurt doing it. Hurt worse than the Torak-han champion had hurt her. Probably hurt worse than she had ever been. She was very aware, from what Faith had said, that attacking the Rock Beast was suicidal. But it was also _necessary_; the situation could not be permitted to escalate any further. The one thing in her favor was that, unlike Faith, she knew what she was facing. Knew that she'd have one chance, and _only_ one chance, to get in a significant blow before the Beast understood exactly what it was dealing with. Because, once again unlike Faith, she was carrying a weapon. A weapon she fervently hoped the Beast did not realize was far more powerful than it looked.

* * *

Inside the Mountain, Hammond glared at Sif, knowing that he owed the Asgard big-time for her work on the Legion Gun, but annoyed that the alien had done it without informing him. "What is happening out there, Sif? What is that creature? What sort of threat are we facing?"

As usual the Asgard showed no emotions, and did not appear to be in the slightest intimidated by the looming, obviously angry, General. "Much of what you ask is self-explanatory. Your planet has attracted the attention of the Ori. They have sent their most powerful mortal acolyte to coordinate your assimilation into their dominion. Unless they are stopped, your world, your society, and likely the galaxy at large is doomed to subservience under Ori domination."

"And you didn't think it necessary to _warn_ us about this danger!"

The alien twisted its head a bit, looking at the General quizzically. "We _did_ warn you. We took steps to assist you. It isn't often that we provide the sort of technical assistance I have just provided by modifying the modulation parameters on your Legion gun. But Buffy Summers requested that we do so, and it is _she_, not you, who will resolve this crisis, or fail in the attempt."

The calm words cut through his anger, and Hammond unthinkingly turned his attention to the monitor, where Buffy and the massive alien, which appeared to be made of rock, were glaring at one another like savage gladiators about to do battle. Which, Hammond realized, was exactly what they were. "We are a powerful military force, Sif. We have defended ourselves against the Goa'uld for more than five years. These people had _one_ ship, and one, well, _creature_. For all Buffy's impressive talents, I think we could have handled the situation ourselves had you come to us."

"No, you could not. The Ori are an immensely powerful foe. They maintain domination over several entire galaxies. We have so far escaped their overwhelming power only due to the direct intervention of the Ancients themselves. As I explained before, the price for allowing the Slayer to be activated in our universe involved a threat to your planet. I should clarify that statement: the Powers That Be were permitted to modify certain fundamental physical characteristics of our universe if they came up with a way to challenge the might of the Ori. For reasons we do not know, the Ancients themselves will not _directly_ oppose the Ori, but will only use subterfuge and deception to protect this galaxy from their domination. Even the Powers that Be were restricted on how they would be permitted to oppose them.

"Power –_military_ power—would not succeed. We agree that you could have defeated this initial, covert, attempt at assimilation had we provided adequate warning. However this would have inevitably led to a more significant military incursion by Ori forces which neither you, _nor we_, could have successfully opposed. A more subtle approach was required. We believe that the Powers That Be manipulated a confrontation which will require Buffy Summers to act virtually alone in order to resolve the crisis with the fewest possible casualties, but the most profound possible consequences. It is in fact our conclusion that this entire confrontation with the Ori has been brought about deliberately in order to test Buffy Summers. It was inevitable that our galaxy would come to their attention eventually, but the fact that it is happening now, rather than at some time in the future, is definitely suggestive.

"We believe they want her to fight this creature. But she understood the consequences which would befall the Earth should she simply kill the Beast, as you would have had we alerted you to the Ori intentions. It isn't enough to simply destroy this advance group. It is necessary to use this group as a wedge against the Ori themselves. Doing such a thing would be difficult. She would need a plan. And she needed our help to make one.

"We believe that the Powers That Be, with the consent of the Ancients, are risking the fate of your planet not just on Buffy Summers learning how to plan a campaign, but on her having learned to ask for help."

* * *

One of the things that had always irritated the hell out of Giles was the way Buffy had led with her jaw, permitting her opponents to get in the first punch before she got down to business and kicked their ass. It worked only because she was about a thousand times tougher than she looked, so most opponents didn't really go full-out when they assumed a stiff breeze could probably knock her unconscious. Plus, she just needed the wake-up call of a good belt to the jaw to let her subconscious know that she was in a fight for her life. No matter how long she had been a Slayer, some part of her still couldn't believe that a mean thing would really dare hit someone as cute and perky as her. Once her subconscious was convinced, she was hell on wheels; but until then she just didn't take it seriously enough.

Even without Faith's warning she probably wouldn't have been that dumb when dealing with something of the Rock Beast's size and mass. Or at least she hoped so, as an impartial review of her past actions suggested otherwise. This thing was Adam in battle armor. The trick was to convince it that it could afford to do what she ordinarily did; let her opponent get in the first blow. Given their size disparity the Beast had good reason not to feel overly threatened. And, with his spaceship just blown to hell, he had reason to feel pretty fucking irritated, and not exactly thinking straight. So Buffy did what Buffy did best; irritate the hell out of the miserable bastard. "I wonder what your precious Ori are gonna say when they go over this disaster. Your 'Prior' outed, his protégés revealed, the whole invasion plan down the crapper. You're not having a good day, Alf."

She smirked at the Rock Beast, enjoying the outrage in its expression. It was time to gamble, even though she knew she probably would not survive the next few seconds if she was wrong. From Faith's description she knew there was no way she could attack such a powerful opponent without being swatted aside like an annoying insect unless she could first knock the Beast off its game. It would be virtually impossible to get in a really good opening blow while simultaneously defending herself against its inevitable counter-attack. The trick was to make damned certain she got in better punch than it did. Continuing to twist and twirl the hammer, she met the Beast's eyes for a few seconds, both of them psyching themselves for what was to come. What they both know was happening. She was waiting for the moment… when her opponents' arms were in the exact proper position, when the angles were right, when her breathing and balance were perfect. And then she suddenly moved.

It was a dance, balance and flexibility and speed, beautiful in its perfection, violence become art. There was no wasted motion, not a single extra step, not a superfluous gesture. The hammer swung faster than a human eye could see, her body a ballet of perfectly contortioned physical coordination. Stepping, swirling, arms swinging as she bent and lifted, constantly moving the hammer to adjust its trajectory, never allowing her opponent to know her target, never committing herself to a specific objective but prepared to take advantage of any opportunity that presented itself. Both knew what was happening, both thought they were prepared. But there was a difference. The Rock Beast just wanted to punish the small human for her insolence.

Buffy wanted to kill the son of a bitch.

The hammer came down and across powered by everything Slayer muscles could impart. Ignoring the massive obsidian arm swinging towards her own face, Buffy twisted a final time and drove the hammer directly for where the rib cage would be on a human opponent. Despite looking like it was built of rock, she had seen that it breathed, its body apparently using oxygen for something. She figured anything that breathed needed lungs; and needed a system to fill those lungs. The hammer was driven towards the lower midsection of its torso, the aim true, the timing perfect, the hammer slamming home less than half a second before she felt the monster arm crush into her face with the force of a battering ram.

Knocked clean off her feet by the force of the blow, Buffy flew through the air twenty feet, crashing through the aluminum framing struts of the VIP observation platform, even the noise of the platform being demolished not drowning out the agonized scream coming from the Beast. When it came to first blows, the alien had miscalculated. Big time.

* * *

Back in the Mountain, Hammond watched the result of that first confrontation with stunned disbelief. The rocky alien monster was twice the girl's height, and probably out-massed her ten-fold. The small hammer she was wielding like it was a useful weapon couldn't have weighed more than eight pounds. But it had smashed into the alien like the Fist of God, crushing the right side of its chest, fluorescent red 'blood' flowing like lava from the devastating blow. The monster had hit Buffy with an arm bigger in circumference than her waist, knocking her flying, but the girl was already back on her feet and stalking her vastly larger opponent. Television cameras closed in to show that the left side of her face had been smashed and scraped, her left eye red with blood; but Hammond knew such damage would barely affect a Slayer in combat, even though the blow had been hard enough to kill anyone else.

He frowned at Sif, but quickly returned his attention to the screen, watching the way Buffy manipulated the hammer, moving it back and force hypnotically, her deadly cold eyes never leaving those of her prey. And it was prey. Hammond knew he wasn't watching a 'fight;' this was the sort of kill-or-be-killed gladiatorial combat rarely seen in civilized society. Despite her size and looks, Buffy was the best person he had for such a conflict, being the least 'civilized' person in the SGC, the one who, even more than Teal'c, was familiar with and prepared for a fight to the death. Sif walked over to observe the screen, her expressionless alien face showing none of the concern Hammond couldn't hide.

"Thor's hammer is somewhat more than it appears at first glance. We tried to explain it to Miss Summers, but as I'm sure you have discovered for yourself, she is not especially interested in explanations; merely in results. She cared only what the hammer _did_, not how it works. The hammer is considerably heavier than it looks; approximately 28 of your pounds. Only a Slayer could swing it with such casual, effortless ease. However it has several uniquely useful properties. You have already seen that it acts like a personal shield to protect the wielder from massive impacting projectiles. It would do the same against energy weapons as well. We are hoping the Doci will assume it protects her from its psychic machinations, such as thought control and psionic attacks. It doesn't, but a Slayer with Buffy's experience has her own defenses against such attacks.

"More usefully in this present confrontation, the hammer incorporates what might be considered a 'momentum enhancer,' a reversal of the 'inertial sump' installed on spacecraft in order to counter the effects of sudden acceleration. When the hammer is swung, the 'momentum enhancer' has the ability to vastly increase the effective energy required to oppose the imparted momentum. The hammer is specifically 'tuned' to respond to its owner, so that one person, and only that one specific individual, can manipulate it almost effortlessly; but anyone else would find it too heavy to move. For some reason Miss Summers feels that this aspect of the hammer is significant, and she refers to it as a 'Troll hammer.' As you can see, the sort of force the hammer can impart is vastly more than it would appear such a small object was capable of inflicting."

Carter had been listening in on the speech while simultaneously watching the horrifying bloodbath on the display, as the alien being who had once been disguised to appear as Berklyn unleashed his mental powers, forcing those people within range of his influence to shoot at anyone trying to get to the President. But even that was secondary to the main battle between the two more-than-human combatants. She had been astonished at the damage Buffy's initial blow had caused, but still extremely concerned given the size of her opponent. "What sort of a magnification in force are we talking about? That _thing_ –the Doci-- must weigh at least a thousand pounds. And it's made of rock!"

Never looking away from the screen, Sif answered absently. "I would suspect that her initial blow delivered approximately 4200 foot-pounds of energy directly to the diaphragm of her opponent." The alien ignored the gasps of amazement from the humans who overheard. "I am uncertain how much damage has been done to the Doci. It is definitely injured, but I do not know how critical the damage. This is unfortunate, as this particular species has never been defeated in single combat before, so far as we know."

Watching Buffy close with the monster, Hammond tried to be supportive to his agent. "It's never faced a Slayer before."

Turning to face him for a second, Sif didn't respond until after she returned her attention to the screen. "Unfortunately, that is not quite accurate. Technically speaking; it has. The results of that confrontation were not encouraging. On a more optimistic note, however, Miss Summers has so far avoided the primary mistakes made by her predecessor. She actually _hurt_ it. I would hope that she continues to do so."

* * *

Buffy knew she'd hurt the monster, hurt it bad, but it was far from out of the fight. She hadn't expected it would be… but it would have been nice if she'd have been able to inflict some crippling damage with the only surprise blow she was going to get. From here on in everything would be a brutal slugging match, and she could only hope she had injured it enough to make up for the difference in power she'd been warned the Beast possessed. Faith had warned her not only about its strength, but that nothing built by humans could penetrate its rocky skin. Somewhat like the Judge in that respect, but she didn't have a rocket launcher handy to test if it had a similar weakness to weapons humans _manufactured_ as opposed to built. Even if she did, it was still shielded from projectile weapons by the blue thing on the staff it now carried in the hand on its weakened side. The only way she was going to beat it was up close and personal. Which, to be honest, was the way she preferred it, even knowing how bad things were likely to get.

The problem was, she was used to being at least as fast and as strong as anything she faced, if not more so. The only time she'd faced anything comparable to her own physical capabilities without being supported by magic, the results hadn't been pretty. Technically speaking, she had beaten the Torak-han champion. But if she fought this thing as stupidly as she'd fought it, she was dead meat. Fortunately, this time she wasn't out to impress frightened Potentials. All she wanted from this encounter was to be the one who could walk away once it was all over. Moving forward, careful, eyes never leaving those of her massive opponent, she closed in, using all of her skill and experience to offer him what he expected. Finally she braced herself and, at the absolute last possible fraction of a second, twisted, redirecting the hammer, aiming for his weakened side, knowing he was protecting it but knowing even more that her only chance for victory meant attacking her opponents' weakest point.

She wasn't surprised that the alien knew what she was doing and had prepared to defend himself against it. But it was still underestimating her speed, and it hadn't expected her to redirect her aim at the last second. Once again, she was able to smash the hammer into the monster's torso an instant before he brought up his massive forearm, the quite-literally rock-hard limb slamming into the side of her head with enough force to compress her brain, almost knocking her unconscious, almost making her miss the dubious pleasure of being thrown twenty feet by the impact until she crashed into the masonry wall of the hanger which had been a backdrop for the President's speech, causing huge fractures in the concrete surface.

Once again, however, her blow had done much more damage than his. The hammer had hit him just a bit higher than the first one, near the shoulder, and Buffy was fairly confident that his arm was at least partially disabled. Probably the only good thing about getting her butt kicked on a fairly routine basis was the fact that it made her far better prepared for getting into a fight against an opponent as good or better than herself than was the alien, who might never have come across anything that could truly challenge him. Trying to shake off the dizziness and pain, she got to her knees, pausing only when someone noticed that the monster had dropped his staff when she hit his arm the second time and decided to try taking a shot at him. His skin turned out to be as bullet-proof as advertised. And unlike with the personal shield, which returned the bullets on an exact reciprocal of the incoming trajectory, his rough skin deflected the incoming rounds in random directions.

Whoever was shooting eventually got the message that it wasn't doing any damned good. Buffy gulped nervously as she realized that the Beast wasn't as badly hurt as she had hoped. It was, in fact, coming towards her. And it looked _pissed_. Ordinarily she would have been delighted, as an angry opponent made for an easily-killed opponent, but she'd already hit this one twice with blows that would have stopped almost anything else cold. Which meant this thing was Adam-level tough, and she didn't have access to the magic she'd used to stop Adam. The monster was definitely hurt, but as she shifted her position, lying low to the ground, just using her hands and toes, watching it carefully, ready to spring in any direction, she knew that it was far from fatally damaged. And it was stalking her, no longer pussy-footing around, prepared to accept some more pain if that's what it took to end the fight, no longer willing to give her the opportunity to hit it full force with the hammer.

Jumping up, twisting in mid-air, hammer still held in one strong hand, Buffy bent at the last possible second, using the hammer as a diversion as she dropped to the ground and kicked out full-force with both feet, aiming for the Beast's right knee. It was a brilliant move, perfectly executed: and it failed abysmally. Instead of shattering its knee and taking the Beast down, her own legs almost spasmed as the titanic kick was met by something far stronger than anything she could have imagined. Her kick would have been enough to bend a steel girder; the Beast screamed in pain, but didn't budge. And she was too slow to escape the lightning-fast hand that reached down and grabbed her leg, her entire plan of attack thrown off by the unexpected strength of that rocky leg.

It was then her turn to feel the pain. Swinging her by the leg, still roaring loudly in agony, the Beast twisted, arm whipping around faster than the eye could see, releasing Buffy at just the right point for her to fly through the air, ten feet, fifteen, until she smashed into the masonry wall of the hanger with enough force to smash the blocks into rubble, momentum carrying her right though the wall into the hanger itself. Nothing human would have survived, but the Beast didn't care, it wanted to be certain, it wanted to tear her body limb from limb, so stalked after the human missile it has just thrown, severely limping, eyes quite literally blazing in its fury.


	24. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

**Far Beyond Normal**

**Chapter Twenty Three**

Carter gasped in horror at the sight of the young girl she had hoped might become a friend being smashed through a brick wall. She knew Buffy was tough; but even if the Slayer survived, having the alien monster stalking after her before she had time to recover meant there wasn't much chance she would continue to do so. She felt useless, knowing there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. The TV announcer was almost hysterical, describing the action of not just Buffy's fight, but the far bloodier one going on around the President. Berklyn, no longer even trying to pretend he was a human, was standing, arms wide, blue jewel atop his staff slowing brightly as it deflected incoming bullets without effort, many of those shooting at him dying from the deflected bullets despite their efforts to roll out of the way. His head was back, eyes closed, mouth twitching as he mumbled something, the results obvious as dozens of men shot back at those rushing forward in attempts to get the President out of the line of fire. Anyone who came too close without getting shot almost inevitably looked confused, then horrified, then quickly turned on those following him as his mind was taken over by Berklyn's power.

There were a lot of bodies lying around on the tarmac, and a lot of screaming, making it pretty obvious that nobody had the slightest clue what to do. It was turning out to be really difficult to take out a bullet-proof, telekinetic, mental dominant. Someone was crying out to get the dogs, which sounded like a good idea to Sam until the camera panned over to show a German Shepard quite obviously whimpering in terror. Someone else screamed for the launch of a TOW missile, but he was overruled by an officer who didn't dare risk that much explosive power when the President was in the line of fire. Carter wasn't sure what, if anything, they could do, but simply standing under a mountain watching events unfold wasn't cutting it. Looking over at the General, her eyes pleaded for him to come up with a better idea than the blank she was drawing.

Hammond was open to suggestions. He was a General officer in the United States Air Force, his Commander In Chief was in peril, and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it. The best person for the job has just been thrown through a brick wall and probably had every bone in her body pulverized. O'Neill was still out there, hiding in the surrounding countryside with some troops he had managed to find, but even if he could be contacted they would never get to the airport in time. As was far too often the case in the life of a General officer, events were out of his control once battle was joined, and would be decided by the people at the sharp end, no matter how much he wanted to affect the situation. Frustrated and frightened, he turned to face Sif, who was calmly watching the screen, where the monster was entering the hanger through the opening created by Buffy's body, smashing masonry blocks out of its way with massive obsidian fists in its rage.

Without looking away from the screen, Sif spoke, voice as toneless and unemotional as if she was watching the mating rituals of fruit flies. "We were presented with something of a challenge when dealing with an individual as… unique… as Buffy Summers. She is unlike anyone we have ever dealt with, human or otherwise. To us, she seems to operate on instinct, with virtually no intellectual consideration of processes or alternatives. We spent vast resources investigating her origin and the probable reason for her being resurrected in our universe. Her reaction was to shrug our results off as mere details. She had made her own assumptions –which I should note turned out to be essentially correct—and as far as she was concerned the precise mechanism involved was irrelevant.

"As you probably realize, this is a way of thinking the Asgard are very ill equipped to understand. We are a race of scientists. We need to know underlying causes, probable effects, various options for each. A Slayer, or at least Miss Summers, is far less… cerebral, shall we say… in her method of responding to potential conflict. I'm sure your friend Colonel O'Neill would have found our reaction to be rather smug and condescending, concluding as we did that Miss Summers was a high-functioning predator. We soon learned that there is more than one form of intelligence, a lesson we should have learned from our experiences working with the SGC. Simply possessing higher-capacity brain functions does not automatically make us 'smarter' when it comes to real-world applications or the proposing of required solutions. We have found on a number of occasions that SG-1 has come up with resolutions to problems we hadn't considered because they were counter-intuitive to our thought processes. Buffy possesses that ability to an even greater degree."

Hearing the Asgard talk about Buffy reminded Sam of something, a connection they had somehow missed between the Key and Buffy's sister. For a second the sudden thought was blindingly obvious, but just as quickly disappeared. Frowning, Sam tried to recapture the memory. Part of what made her such a good scientist was that she almost never forgot anything, and it irritated her that she couldn't recall something which had seemed so obvious. A second later her frown disappeared, as she forgot she had ever forgotten anything, and she was soon distracted when actions on the television captured her attention.

On the screen, to Hammond's amazement, the massive monster suddenly came crashing backwards, smashing through another part of the wall, masonry pulverizing, steel beams and rebar twisting like soft aluminum under the force of the rock creature's momentum. Somehow it was able to keep to its feet; but then an extremely-pissed-off Buffy suddenly appeared, bloody and bruised, clothing torn and skin abraded, eyes furious as she pummeled the monster time and again with her hammer, swinging it with both hands faster than the eye could see. Despite the lack of expression on Sif's face, Hammond got the impression that the Asgard was rather pleased with herself as she watched the violent confrontation on the screen. "She operates on instinct; but that instinct is backed by a formidable intelligence, particularly in tactical considerations. She isn't particularly brilliant when it comes to strategic vision, and can be defeated by an opponent who has the time and intelligence to come up with a plan of action more sophisticated than one she can disrupt 'on the fly.' But once battle is joined, she is almost unbeatable on a tactical level."

With both its arm and a leg damaged, Buffy was able to press her attack on the Beast, the monster forced to defend itself and unable to attack given the ferocity of the young girl's determination to beat it into submission. Even Berklyn put aside his Dark Jedi act when he noticed that the Doci was in trouble, ordering some of his zombified Secret Service agents to try to interfere. Buffy undoubtedly knew they had been possessed, but she didn't have the time to coddle them and used the hammer to knock the agents aside like ten pins when they tried to rush her. Unfortunately their interference did give the Beast enough of a break to swing back to the offence, forcing Buffy to bob and weave and drop, their confrontation once again back to where it had started in terms of attack and defense.

Sif continued to watch the screen carefully. "Buffy's unique mental aptitudes presented us with something of a problem. The alien powers infiltrating your planet have had some time to perfect their invasion plan, to prepare for contingencies, to establish fall-back options. It is extremely unlikely that Buffy, or even the SGC, could have interfered with those plans sufficiently to prevent them from coming to fruition. Any attempt to use more extreme measures to stop them would almost certainly have caused them to immediately bring in off-world resources. This would have undoubtedly culminated in open battle against an enemy far more powerful even than the Goa'uld. A battle you would almost certainly have lost."

On the screen, the scene was devolving into a violent, bloody mess. Bodies were everywhere. Buffy and the rock Beast were trading blows, reducing the front of the hanger building to rubble; bent steel girders, crushed masonry blocks, and twisted rebar providing as much of an obstacle course as the dead and dying bodies strewn around the area. Never turning away from watching events unfold on the screen, Sif continued. "Under the circumstances we felt it was worth taking a significant risk: seeing if Buffy's talent for tactical innovation was greater than her opponents' for doing anything similarly '_ad-hoc_.' We discussed the situation with her and let Miss Summers come up with of plan of action as to how we should deal with the incursion.

"Her solution demanded that we 'change the rules.' Which meant, we eventually discovered, that she wanted us to change at least one of the fundamental underlying considerations the Ori had used when designing their strategy. The most obvious method of doing so was to precipitate a crisis, by threatening a shift in Asgard-Earth relations. We assumed that the aliens did not control everyone in your government, otherwise there would be no need for subtlety on their part. A threat that the Asgard were considering altering our present relationship with you would almost certainly acquire the attention, and likely require the intervention, of those who were not controlled by the infiltrators. This would force the Ori to alter their plans, and take immediate measures to maintain control of the situation."

Hammond stared at the alien, shocked to hear that it's earlier threat had been a calculated tactical measure. It seemed out of character for the Asgard, which Sif acknowledged when she continued speaking. "Taking such an action comes difficult to the Asgard, as there are too many variables to accurately predict the outcome. We prefer to consider our actions, to plan for all contingencies. But in this case our options were extremely limited, and time was of the essence. We prefer not to interfere with native government institutions because we all too often misinterpret the basic underlying assumptions which maintain other societies. Fortunately, Miss Summers does not possess this problem. And it was, after all, her plan. She even went so far as to propose the words and phrases I used to get the reaction we wanted from your government. Her estimate as to their probable effect proved to be remarkably accurate."

The alien looked over momentarily when Carter sucked in her breath in shock, before returning her attention to the screen. "The Ancients undoubtedly knew they could not prevent the Ori from threatening us forever. A confrontation between our two races and the Ori was inevitable. It is our belief that the price they demanded for permitting the Powers That Be to create a Slayer in our universe was that the young woman be used against the Ori before being permitted to handle the First. If this is true, then it was congruent upon ourselves to assist her in every way we could, in an effort to train Buffy in the skills she will need to fight such an overwhelmingly powerful opponent as the First. We provided her with certain information, certain options, but left the actual operational decisions for Buffy to reach on her own. If she is successful, the Ori will be dramatically inconvenienced and trillions of lives will be impacted. If she fails, Earth will fall to Ori domination.

"Which places rather significant pressure on Miss Summers to succeed. But that is nothing new to her…"

* * *

Buffy was hurting. Bad. Enough that if things had been different, she'd be running away, hoping to fight another day. She'd hit the rock Beast a dozen times hard enough to flatten the Torak-han champion, but it was still fighting. Still hitting back. Still hurting her. She was reaching the point that Teal'c had arrived at when she tested him; time to make a desperate charge before she didn't have the energy to attack. The question was when. She could defend herself for quite awhile, even against something this powerful. But just defending herself meant she wouldn't win, and Buffy was too furious, too sore, and too aware of the consequences of losing to consider anything else.

The Rock Beast understood the simple equation as well as its opponent did. It required more energy to attack, but attacking was the only way to win. It was even more damaged than its tiny opponent. Its boiling-hot lava-like circulatory fluid needed massive amounts of oxygen, but the damage to its chest meant that it could only draw about half the breath it needed. Its right knee was so badly crushed the crystal structure would likely need to be regrown entirely. It could barely move its left arm. Never before had it faced an opponent such as this one. Never before had it known such pain… or such fear. Not fear for itself, of course; but fear for the mission, the unacceptable possibility that he might fail, that this horrid little creature might actually defeat not just him, but delay the inevitable, interfere with the destiny of the Ori. _That_ was not acceptable. _That_ was why he had no choice but to attack, to finish it, to simply bear whatever punishment she might inflict just so long as she finally went down to defeat.

Both stared at each other, neither blinking, both understanding that this was the moment of destiny. The girl was twisting the hammer, that deceptively small hammer in the hand of a deceptively small girl, preparing herself, searching his eyes for the moment of attack. Knowing what he planned, knowing he was going to attack, knowing he was prepared to accept getting pummeled if it meant bringing her within reach. Knowing that it was going to happen right about… _now_.

He stalked her, moving forward, trusting that the crystalline skin which had cracked but not broken would survive one more blow from that accursed hammer. A skin which had never been broken by anything created by men. Cracked, yes. The circulatory fluid flowing down his torso gave clear evidence that his epidermis could be cracked. But never broken, as that would release the high-pressure plasma which maintained his life function. The hammer was strong, but not as strong as his skin. He was counting on the fact that the claws at the tips of his fingers were crystals almost as strong as diamond… and human flesh was weak. The girl was armed with a hammer, a blunt force weapon which needed to be swung to be effective, limiting her options, forcing her to maneuver precisely in order to land an effective blow. He deliberately left open only one target, protecting his weak side, moving closer, knowing she would get her blow in before he could retaliate, accepting it, because the retaliation would be far worse than what he would receive in return…

He could see her swinging the hammer, moving faster than any human possibly could… but he suddenly moved, twisting, the claws he had been displaying a deception, his damaged arm, not quite as useless as he had pretended, reaching up to deflect the hammer, not to intercept it. His other hand, which had only been threatening to slash her, a move he could see she had already anticipated, instead came over to grasp the hammer, on the handle where her hands were, his superior strength finally able to be brought to bear as they wrestled for possession of the hammer, her only weapon, the only thing which had made the fight somewhat equal. He tightened his grasp on the handle, aware of some of the underlying principles of such a device so understanding that it was uniquely tuned to her physiology. As much as he wanted to disarm her, he needed to keep her hands on the hammer, since only then would he be able to move it. But he twisted it, forcing the massive head away from threatening him, proud of his strategy, raising his eyes to meet hers, anticipating her horror, the certain knowledge of her inevitable defeat…

But that wasn't what he saw in her expression. He had been so busy concentrating on ensuring that she couldn't hit him with the weapon he hadn't been aware that she was changing her stance, had been deliberately giving way to permit him to bring the hammer into the precise position she wanted. He saw it in her triumphant expression only a fraction of a second before she stopped resisting him, suddenly thrusting the hammer forward and down, handle first, her other hand bracing the top of the hammer head! He was out of position to resist the sudden change in direction, his stance wrong… but for an instant could reassure himself with the knowledge that nothing man-made could breach his impenetrable skin.

The hammer hadn't been made by men. It hadn't even been made by the Asgard. It was a creation of the Ancients, and the handle was made of materials which surpassed even those used by the Asgard in terms of strength and toughness. Although the handle was covered in a leather sheath to appear blunt, it actually terminated in a sharp, pointed spike, normally hidden as a safety measure. That spike was far stronger than even the skin of the Rock Beast. Not expecting her sudden thrust forward, the Beast was unable to prevent the ultra-hard spike from ramming through the leather covering, penetrating deep into his chest, slamming all the way into his remaining lung.

His cry of agony and surprise was loud enough to be heard miles away. Even the murderous carnage around them temporarily ceased as everyone turned to see what had caused such a scream. Even Buffy paused, having heard from Faith that when Angel had stabbed the Beast in L.A. it had essentially self-destructed. But Angel must have known precisely where to hit, because to her horrified disappointment this one wasn't dead yet. Despite his agony, the Beast was aware that the girl was very close, too close to escape, although she was making a belatedly frantic effort to get out of the way. Slashing his claws down, swinging this arm to follow her as she lunged backwards, he was almost too late, but still felt his nails slash through flesh, gouge chunks of bone from her rib cage, sawing through muscle from one end of her torso to the other. Then she was out of range, crying out in agony herself this time, but he was too weak to follow, the damage too severe to respond in the second he had available. Blood flew from both of them, both almost fatally weakened, both knowing that the other could easily finish them off with the slightest effort; both too weak to do so.

* * *

Carter cried out as Buffy was practically disemboweled. The girl had been slashed open from shoulder to pelvis, the wound down to the bone, intestines visibly protruding from her abdomen, blood flying everywhere. She was certain it was a fatal wound. Even for a Slayer, such a hideous wound would be deadly. So she was even more shocked when Buffy actually got up, holding her guts in with one hand, and staggered over to where the monster stood, one of its arms useless, the other clutching at the hammer, which had been jammed into its chest all the way to the head. Its eyes were glazed in shock, almost unaware, red fluid gushing from its mouth and chest as Buffy approached. Her eyes were intense, a furious green; lips clenched in agony, firm in determination.

As she reached the monster she planted her feet, ducked its feeble swing at her with its remaining useful arm, swung her deceptively-thin arm back, and drove it forward again directly into the Beast's stomach. The massive punch knocked the thousand-pound monster into the air, flying backwards at least ten feet, twisting around in mid-air from the angle of the blow, until it smashed into a jumbled pile of smashed concrete. It landed on an inch-thick spike of twisted rebar, normally a material too weak to penetrate the skin of such a creature. But Buffy's punch had been precisely calibrated to bring the entire weight of the Beast down exactly on the shattered skin at its chest, earlier damaged by the hammer, and a three foot long spike of rebar penetrated right through the chest to punch out its back.

Staggering after it, Buffy stalked her prey, eyes so savage she seemed almost feral. She bent down to grab another piece of wreckage for leverage, then twisted the thick rebar around so that the Beast was pinned to the ground. It was on its side, alive, but barely so, arm flailing weakly, as she bent down, braced her foot against it, and pulled the hammer free. More of the lava-like alien blood gushed forth, but Buffy ignored it, despite the molten drops scalding her skin when they landed.

Sif watched emotionlessly as she staggered up to the aliens head, ignoring its futile attempts at rising, knowing it was pinned as securely as a butterfly in a glass case, and carefully placing the hammer between its horn and head. Bracing the hammer head against the back of the massive alien head, she started to pull, using the handle for leverage. Sif's tone was almost conversational as they watched her, muscles straining to their utmost, her eyes barely sane with murderous rage, slowly twist the monster's head off. "The First has a very powerful talent: it can read minds. Surface telepaths such as your Mr. Denneck can only manipulate emotions, influence opinions. More powerful versions such as the Prior masquerading as Mr. Berklyn can read surface thoughts, can impose his will upon others, can compel obedience. But the First can literally _read minds_; it knows everything you know, sees everything you have seen, knows your greatest fear and your deepest desire. How can you defeat such a being when your mind is an open book, when it knows everything you are thinking, everything you are planning?

"It turns out the Ori have a similar problem. They maintain control over their empire by exploiting the telepathic abilities of the Priors. That begs the question as to why the Priors don't use their talent to simply control the minds of the Ori themselves. The Asgard defend themselves against mental domination by entering a state of deep meditation; but this is a defense, not an adaptation which could be used to maintain day-to-day operational control, as the Ori require. They need something like a shield, an artificial mechanism, but we have never been able to build such a device. Neither have the Ancients, although we suspect this might be due to some arrangement they reached with the Ori… because we know that the Ori _have_ built one. In fact, the Doci is wearing just such a device on the collar around his neck. A collar which cannot be removed, because it is too small to fit over its head, and is made of a material too strong to cut, as a measure designed to ensure that it never falls into the hands of the Ori's enemies.

"Such a device would provide Buffy with a monumentally powerful tool to use against the First. And, not incidentally, provide us with a rather useful tool to use against the Ori as well. So it would be to our mutual benefit should she be able to acquire one of these devices. Which was what this entire plan was designed to accomplish: the acquisition of a device which renders the wearer immune to psychic manipulation. A device which only the Ori have built, and only the Doci wears. It would appear that she is about to solve the problem of removing it from the Beast as well, in her own inimitable style."

* * *

Barely conscious, knowing how badly she had been injured but too consumed by rage to worry much about it, Buffy pulled on the hammer's handle with every ounce of her strength. A solid steel bar would have bent double under the force of her effort, but the hammer was barely budging. The Beast was whimpering in agony, desperately trying to gain some kind of leverage, but it was pinned to the ground but good. It also had an incredibly strong neck.

But not that strong. Finally, just as she thought she might pass out, there was a loud '_Snap_!' and the hammer shifted in her hands. As the severed head separated from the massive body, a blindingly brilliant flash of light came from its neck, concealing the view of Buffy's hand reaching in to grab the necklace before it could be destroyed by the molten heat of the monster's blood. Only then did she jump away, the light still so bright she could barely see, the hand grasping the necklace and pendant burnt severely, the hammer held in her other hand. While frantically scrambling away she fell backwards on her butt, hurting but almost more embarrassed by the indignity than she was at being a bloody, battered mess. It took a few more seconds for her to realize that the brilliant beam of light coming from the severed neck of the Beast was continuing to shoot across the landing field like a massive laser, blowing through an airplane, and the already-damaged hanger, before shooting off into the air over the city. It was pretty impressive, and she hoped it might have distracted people from witnessing her fall.

It was only then that she became aware of the silence. The shooting had stopped. The crying had stopped. Everyone, it seemed, was staring at her in shocked amazement. She would have been embarrassed, but just then she turned to see Berklyn. He looked just as amazed as the others, but got control of himself faster than almost anyone else. He saw the pendant in her hand, and she could practically see his brain process it, knew the instant he realized her objective all along had been the necklace, and that the hammer had just been a diversion. Could see his shock turn to rage, his rage instantly transform into a desire for vengeance. The President was still alive, still under his mental control, providing both cover and bait to bring in more men for him to either kill or dominate. Buffy could see him reach a conclusion, could see his determination to implement that decision, and reacted instantly.

From her knees she twisted violently, ignoring the pain in her legs, the agony from her severed stomach muscles. The blue crystal at the top of his staff was glowing brighter than Buffy had ever seen it, and Buffy knew as she flung the hammer with everything she had left that nothing could penetrate the defensive shield, but the hammer was all she had, and she couldn't just sit there and do nothing when it was pretty obvious the alien had decided it was time to dispose of his principle hostage. Berklyn saw her throw the hammer, had time to sneer at her, knowing that he was impervious to projectile weapons while protected by his shield, still trying to process the awareness that the Asgard had _not_ provided Earth with a tool which could make humans resistant to mental domination. Which meant that Buffy was the only one who could physically threaten him, and she was finished, exhausted, very nearly dead. It was unlikely that he could salvage the situation, but he could receive some satisfaction from knowing that she had failed even more thoroughly than him.

And then the hammer hit the shield.

There was another flash, this one of brilliant blue light, as both shield and hammer performed their functions. The shield was designed to invert the momentum of incoming projectiles, returning them towards their point of origin. But the hammer _enhanced_ momentum, and when the shield attempted to invert it, it created a change in acceleration which the hammer converted into yet more momentum in a cascading spike which happened instantly, violently, and ended with the hammer dropping to the ground, its entire momentum transferred to the shield. A tiny hammer thrown by a tiny human suddenly transformed into the equivalent of more than eighty thousand foot-pounds of energy. With no way to dissipate so much momentum in its comparatively tiny surface footprint the entire shield, occupant included, was slammed violently backwards a good thirty yards, prevented from flying a lot further when it smashed into the bottom half of a large military cargo plane which had been parked nearby to provide a photogenic backdrop for the television cameras. The thin aluminum bent in a massive dent, but to Buffy's disappointment held, and Berklyn fell to the ground a second later, without the plane exploding in the sort of Hollywood-esque _dénouement_ she had been hoping to see.

He had been dazed by the impact, losing both his grip on the staff and his ability to maintain control of those under his thrall. It was only for a moment, but that was all the soldiers needed, as about fifty of them suddenly cut loose with weapons on full automatic fire. For a few seconds Berklyn did his best Clyde Barrow impersonation, twitching madly from the impact of hundreds of incoming bullets, which didn't begin to taper off until he had been quite literally blown into a widely-strewn pile of tiny chunks of meat that no pathologist would ever be able to reassemble into anything even approximating humaniod shape.

The soldiers really, _really_ wanted to make sure he was dead.

As she tried to stand, Buffy noticed the Beast's head, lying nearby, sheared cleanly, like a crystal bust ready to be mounted on a castle wall as a warning to anyone considering threatening those within. Grabbing it by one horn, she painfully forced herself to her feet, adrenaline no longer flooding her system, the come-down leaving her exhausted and beginning to feel the approaching agony of her horrific wounds. Others were also beginning to realize that the crisis was over, cries and shouts coming from all around as people were suddenly freed from the thrall, and finally aware of what they had been doing while under Berklyn's control. But there was a President at risk, so most left any blame to be apportioned later once he had been moved to a safe location. The President himself, only slowly coming to an awareness that he had been under an external compulsion, wanted to stay and demand answers, but the Secret Service did not obey even Presidential instructions under those conditions; their first order of business was to get him to safety, even if it meant dragging him away kicking and screaming.

When they shoved him into a nearby limo, which immediately squealed away, moving so quickly it left a long trail of burnt rubber, only the four acolytes were left to face the surviving Special Forces soldiers, whose faces showed their murderous fury as they looked around at the hundreds of bodies strewn about the tarmac. Their outrage gave them immunity from the attempted mental manipulations of the surviving quartet, who had never possessed even a fraction of Berklyn's skill. When it looked like they might be considering shooting the acolytes out of hand, Buffy spoke up. "Don't."

She was so weak her voice could barely be heard above the groans and cries coming from the wounded, the words themselves slurred by broken teeth and a bleeding mouth. But the soldiers immediately looked at her, and despite their rage were able to control themselves. They knew the benefits of capturing an enemy alive… and they had just been given a real object lesson on the dangers of angering Buffy. She didn't realize the picture she made, clothing ripped, covered in blood, barely able to stand… and holding a severed head in one small hand. All she knew was that they lowered their weapons, or at least took their hands off the triggers. Buffy returned her attention to Denneck, glaring at him, holding up the head. "This is what you wanted? You were going to sell us all out for _this_!" She wanted to scream at him, but was too exhausted, and blood was pouring from her mouth. "You had one special talent, and thought it made you better than anyone. I've got a few special talents of my own, but I still know that doesn't make me a better mechanic than the guy at the garage, or a better doctor than the one at the hospital. It just means I'm really good at what _I_ do. You could have helped us… but instead, you gave us _this_." Waving her free hand at the carnage all around them, Buffy was horrified as she only then realized just how terrible the butcher's bill was going to be. She held up the Beast's head. "You wanted to be like this? Take it."

It seemed almost casual, the way she tossed the obsidian head, Buffy barely budging, an underhanded snap of her wrist. Denneck tried to catch it, not realizing the head alone weighed better than a hundred pounds, and he was knocked flat by the impact, his rib cage almost crushed. With nothing more to be done, Buffy turned away, and began walking away from the scene of so much death, heading back towards the distant gate, not having the slightest idea where she was going or why, just wanting to be moving away from this place of horror. She actually managed to stagger about fifty feet before she collapsed; finally overcome by shock from loss of blood, concussion, and the massive internal damage she had suffered during the violent confrontation.

Fortunately for her, every ambulance in the city was on its way. She would be the very first person they picked up for delivery to the nearest hospital. Unfortunately there were a whole lot more which wouldn't need to hurry, as their cargo was far beyond medical help.


	25. Chapter 24

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.

**Far Beyond Normal**

** Chapter Twenty Four**

It wasn't far to the nearest hospital, but the ambulance didn't even get halfway there before the roads in front of and behind it were suddenly blocked by military vehicles which appeared out of nowhere, forcing the ambulance driver to jump on the brakes. Armed soldiers ran to the ambulance, and the attendants looked at each other fearfully, wondering what the hell they had gotten themselves into, when the door was opened and a man entered. He was an older guy, one with the hard, lean look of a veteran, someone who had 'seen the elephant' and not the sort to take any crap from anyone. The attendants were about to berate him for delaying them when they had a horrifically injured girl aboard. One look at the man's face and they both sat there quietly, as he walked up to the girl, and gently took one of her hands in his. The hand was badly burnt, grasping some kind of fancy pendant so tightly they hadn't been able to make her loosen her grip when they had examined her minutes earlier.

Despite injuries that should have been fatal, the girl opened her eyes, one of them a deep red as the eyeball had filled with blood, the other a dark green, intelligent and aware as she looked up from her stretcher at the officer. "Hey, Jack."

The grey haired soldier smiled gently. "Hey yourself. Not too shabby, kid. Not too shabby at all." He carefully lifted her hand, wincing in sympathetic pain as she struggled to relax the death-grip she maintained on the pendant, her fingers so badly burnt they barely responded to her commands. Finally the fingers loosened enough for him to remove the pendant and its partly-melted gold chain, and he put it in his pocket before gently lowering her hand back to the padded white stretcher. "We got the details a few minutes ago when Hammond filled me in on your plan. We'll talk about it once you're better, but for now they want me to bring this back to the mountain asap."

"Take me with you…"

He shook his head. "You need a hospital right now, Buffy. It'll take us twenty minutes to get back to the SGC. These people can have you in a good hospital in less than five."

"They don't know how to treat me. About the blood. At least Frasier…"

Acting surprisingly gently for such a hard-looking man, the soldier carefully placed a finger on her lip, his other fist clenching angrily at the damage he could see to her mouth, her broken teeth, the crushed nose and shattered cheekbones. None of that carefully-controlled rage showed up in his voice when he spoke. "I'll have her call the hospital. Tell them not to give you any blood. But we gotta go, kid. When the Ori find out about this they're going to send in an invasion fleet. You should know; from what Sif has been telling us, most of this was your idea. I'm just glad you had the leverage to demand that the Asgard send half their fleet to protect us. That will hurt them bad with the Replicator situation, but I'd hate to face what is about to come down on us without their support. Just get better, Buffy. Don't worry about anything. We'll take care of it. I promise."

At his final words the badly injured girl shut her eyes, and was unconscious within seconds. When the officer stood to leave, one of the attendants felt it was safe enough to speak up. "She needs blood. A lot of it. That wound… hell, _those wounds_ are all bleeding like hell."

The officer glared, and there was something about that glare that promised divine retribution if his words weren't followed to the letter. "She's a _Slayer_. She can recover from anything that doesn't outright kill her, _if_ her body knows how seriously it was damaged. Sew her up, pump her full of sugar and water, and dump her into a tub of ice water. She going to run a temperature like you won't believe… like 113, maybe 115 degrees. Her arms and legs will be too hot to touch. That'll be her body doing everything it needs to fix what's broken. The physical changes will creep you the hell out. Her hair and eyes will change color, she'll lose at least a couple of inches of height, her nose will rebuild itself, her teeth will regrow. Don't fuck up the process by interfering. I repeat; _do not fuck up the process by interfering_! I'd be really, seriously pissed off if you fuck it up by interfering. Understand?"

The threat was delivered so coldly, with such an intense glare, that neither attendant doubted for a minute that it was a promise. Message received and understood, O'Neill left the ambulance, rushing back to his hummvee, carrying in his pocket something so precious that two intergalactic powerhouses were about to do battle in his solar system for its possession. Something so powerful that it might be able to affect the ambitions of beings of God-like power. Something so filthy he didn't even want to touch it, because the price Buffy had paid to get it was more than he was willing to ask anyone to pay.

* * *

Finally able to relax once she knew the pendant was in the hands of someone who could get it to the Asgard, Buffy quickly lost consciousness. She had almost been overcome by the agony of her many and varied injuries, but had struggled to remain aware until someone came for the precious device. She had been certain someone would come. It was with whole-hearted relief that she greeted the painless bliss of unconsciousness, the opportunity to put her brain on neutral and enter a state of vegetative unawareness, ignoring the world, untouched by events outside her head, blissfully ignorant of the world beyond.

So it was with considerable surprise that she felt… aware. Not conscious, not aware of the outside world, but fully and completely aware of _herself_. She was in a white room… not a room, but a white _expanse_, edgeless, no floor or walls visible, only her own body providing differentiation from the soft background white. Even her clothing was white; pristine white, the way detergent ads promised but never delivered. Her body itself was whole, uninjured, even her nails buffed and polished, her skin feeling pleasantly hydrated and exfoliated. There was no pain at all, although she could feel it when as an experiment she simply touched herself. Given the alternative, she had no problem spending some time in this white room.

Naturally that was the moment she heard something, the sound of someone approaching. It wasn't the sound of footsteps, but the sound of movement, of someone coming closer, not being furtive, not hiding themselves. But it took a minute before she saw anything, the newcomer not approaching from a vast distance, but just coming into view, as if through a mist which blocked her eyes from seeing into the distance. It was a sad little man in a brown coat, a dark hat on his head, the bright flowers of a Hawaiian shirt visible under a coat which had gone out of fashion before Buffy was born. She, of course, recognized him instantly. "Whistler. Why am I not surprised?"

He paused a few feet away, sad eyes searching hers, obviously remembering the last time they met, the threats she had tossed around liberally, the anger she had wanted to express through a serious application of applied violence. A pale shadow of that remembered anger flowed through her again, but after the fight with the rock Beast, she was just too damned tired to bother. He seemed to understand that, so approached closer. "Hey, kid. Long time no see."

"Not long enough." When he turned his sad eyes on her, looking hurt, Buffy scoffed. "Don't give me that! Every time I see you more crap falls on me. You're like my own private sign of the Apocalypse! And you're not even a horse! Shouldn't you have showed up like, eight months ago, and at least given me a hint about what was happening?"

Holding up his hands defensively, the balance demon maintained a carefully generous separation from the human. "You figured it all out on your own, kid. And until now we've been lying low, going out of our way not to even _think_ about you. The First is watching us, and the last thing we want to do is give it the slightest hint that you're not as dead as it thinks you are."

Scowling, Buffy wondered if it was a sign of maturity that she wasn't hitting the annoying creature just on general principles, or an indication of her continuing lethargy and emotional detachment from life. Either way, what Whistler said made an unfortunate degree of sense. "So why are you here now? I'm not dying, am I? Jeezus, a fourth time would be really getting carried away…"

"No, no, you'll live. You're hurt bad, real bad, but the people working on you are top notch, they'll keep you alive long enough for the Slayer healing to kick in. But, for the next fifteen, maybe twenty minutes, you're about as dead as a living person can be and not stay that way. Remember how you could see the First when you were dying in that cavern? You're sort of in a similar state now, without the whole 'dying' thing at the end. That gives us the opportunity to meet you here, where the First can't see us."

Buffy nodded her understanding. "Okay then, you got fifteen minutes to fill me in on what is going on, and what I'm supposed to do about it." She frowned when the demon shook his head negatively, his expression, as usual, sad.

"Sorry Blondie, but as I said, the First is watching us, meaning that my kind can't tell you anything, can't help you, can't give you advice. We're all bending through hoops not to even _think_ about you, or what you might do, or how you might do it. Because even thinking about it might attract the attention of the First. It was quite a hoot negotiating with the Ancients, with neither side ever able to come out and say what they wanted, only able to hint about what they were willing to trade in exchange for what they couldn't actually come out and say they wanted. We literally _can't_ help you Buffy. We're actually kind of hoping you can help _us_."

Scowling in frustration, Buffy almost reached out to beat upon the small man, held back only by the suspicion that he was being, for once, quite truthful. "Well, if you can't help, what the hell are you doing here? Just confirming what I already know doesn't do much when there is so much more I _don't_ know."

The balance demon nodded, understanding. "_We_ can't help you, but we can arrange for it for you to help _yourself_, just this once. We won't be able to do it again, but just this once, you happen to be here, in this place, at the exact same time as the First is busy god knows where, doing god knows what. And let me tell you, it took some fancy footwork on our part to arrange for the First to be off somewhere else at the precise moment when you would be here. But it worked; you're here, and for the next fifteen minutes I can arrange for you to be back in your old body. That's all the time you'll have to learn what you need to learn. After fifteen minutes you need to put everything back exactly the way you found it, so when the First returns it won't know you were visiting." He met Buffy eyes steadily, noting the shock in her expression, his own intense with the pressure he was under. "You've only got fifteen minutes. Then it's Cinderella time. You won't be in a state to maintain the connection to this realm, and the First will be on its way home. So you only have fifteen minutes. Just fifteen minutes…. Fifteen… minutes…"

His lonely, sad voice seemed to draw out, slow down, like she was in a drugged stupor, which was certainly possible as his eyes became hypnotic, the surrounding white room becoming wavy, discorporate, incorporeal. Only Whistler's sad eyes retained their focus as the world around them faded into a jumble of random, psychedelic weirdness. Until finally even the background faded into blackness, only Whistler's eyes remaining, his distorted voice continuing his chant of her fifteen minute time limit, until finally even that disappeared into the all-encompassing blackness of what she feared might only be her delusional mind.

* * *

She awoke suddenly, eyes wide open, going from deep sleep to full awareness instantly. It was a battle condition, and she was a Slayer, aware that something was wrong, not giving any outward sign that she was awake, but all of her senses on full alert. She was in bed… an expensive, luxurious bed, in a darkened but obviously expensive and luxurious room. Very high ceiling, very expensive furniture, although not much of it, she noted without moving a muscle.

And there was someone in bed with her. A girl-type person of the female persuasion. Moving carefully, silently, Buffy took extreme care not to wake up the other person as she got out from under a thick duvet, and stood up. Under her feet was decadently thick carpeting. A huge bay window provided some illumination, even though it was night, and shears blocked what little light there was from entering the bedroom. Still, there was enough illumination for someone with her eyes to quickly survey the room, showing the expensive furnishings, genuine artworks on three walls, a huge walk-in closet opened to show the beginnings of an impressive selection of designer clothing. It was pretty obvious that the First had expensive tastes, and had somehow acquired the financial wherewithal to indulge those tastes.

Silently making her way over to the bay window, Buffy looked out, seeing a vast expanse of manicured lawn, the glow of a city off in the distance, enough stars visible to make it clear she was a long way from urban blight. She sensed, but couldn't see, people out there in the dark gardens. Slayers, on patrol. So… the First liked elbow room, and either had serious enemies or suffered from even more serious paranoia.

Turning away from the window, she checked the other doors leading from the room, not wanting to leave the bedroom when she sensed another Slayer patrolling the hall beyond. Instead she entered the bathroom, closing the door silently before turning on the light, absently noting the expensive fixtures and plumbing, but more interested in looking at herself in the mirror. Her face was older. Lines under the nose and eyes, bone structure sharper, eyes bigger and harder. She was still beautiful, her lips excellent, her nose a bit sharper than she'd like, body far too thin, but her hair was wonderful. It was just a quick peek into the future, the way she'd look in five or ten years, her suspicions about the disparity between the timelines of the Sunnydale universe and her new one confirmed with one glance in the mirror.

A quick glance around the bathroom reinforced her impression that the First had excellent taste, and the money to indulge them. The room was bigger than most bedrooms, and in addition to the usual amenities had a separate sauna, a shower, and a huge tub reached by marble steps, built into a curved turret in the building and completely enclosed by one-way glass. Hanging plants added wonderful touches of greenery. It was one of the most spectacular rooms Buffy had ever seen, and she almost explored further, desperate to see the towels, when she realized that she had a pretty rigid time limit. There was another door leading from the bathroom, and she could practically feel the presence on the other side. Without knowing how she knew, Buffy quietly opened the door, not surprised at all to see Dawn.

She was sleeping in the same kind of wonderfully comfortable bed that Buffy had awakened in, and the room was at least as nice, if a bit more modern in terms of furnishings and decorations. Fortunately she was alone. Buffy wasn't sure if she was ready to come across someone sharing Dawn's bed. Not wanting to startle her sister she carefully closed the bathroom door and made her way over to the huge bed, gently nudging it without touching Dawn directly. Even so the girl awoke instantly, eyes wide and frightened as she looked around for the cause of the disturbance, barely able to make out Buffy standing there in the darkness. "What do you want?"

Her voice was pure Dawn; a bit whiny, but a lot nervous with a whole undertone of fright. Just hearing it almost caused Buffy to break down in tears, so relieved to hear her sister once more that she was almost overcome with emotion. Unfortunately Dawn misinterpreted her silence, and reached over to turn on a bed-side light, holding her blankets close to her chin defensively. With the additional illumination Buffy was able to see the girl clearly, and was stunned by the change since the last time she saw her, back in the high school just before she entered the Hellmouth. She had always known Dawn would grow up to be beautiful; but she'd underestimated how much so.

It was hard for Buffy to believe that Dawn was now just as old, or even older than she was, somewhere in her early-to-mid twenties, but her hair and skin were perfect, better than Buffy's, she thought with the slightest twinge of jealous annoyance. She had always felt that Dawn's hair was her crowning glory, long and full and shiny from the care she took to maintain it. When they were younger Buffy had found it relaxing, even soothing, to simply brush Dawn's hair, finding comfort in the familiar ritual, contentment in being together with her sister, not fighting, barely even speaking. She was disappointed to see that Dawn had cut her hair, and curled it, in a sophisticated and more adult style that, objectively, suited her perfectly, but was a change Buffy hadn't expected. Given the amount of time that had passed she should have expected it… but for some reason it wasn't until she saw Dawn's hair that she truly realized how much time had passed in this universe, rather than seeing her own face in the mirror.

Concerned at the unusually long silence, Dawn glared at her, tying to project anger, but it wasn't hard to see that she was frightened of the girl still standing at the end of the bed, looking at her face as if she had never seen her before. Finally, after what had seemed an interminable delay to the nervous girl, Buffy simply sat down at the end of the bed, sighing and obviously trying to choose her words carefully. "Pretend I just lost my memory. Pretend I don't remember anything that happened since we activated the Potentials in the Hellmouth. Tell me everything that happened since then. In five minutes or less."

Dawn looked at her like she thought she was crazy, giving Buffy the impression that this was far from the first time her little sister had subjected her to such a look. "You lost your memory? What are you talking about? What happened to your memory? I don't see…"

In an effort to break through the babbling, Buffy glared at her, which was enough to make the other girl shut up, her eyes hooded and nervous. But she quickly regained her voice, not challenging Buffy but demonstrating that she hadn't been thoroughly cowed. "Okay, you lost your memory. Whatever. So, after you went down to the cavern, Willow activated the SHiT's… er, the Potentials, I should say… and you all fought the torak-han. Spike activated the amulet, killed all the bad guys, and brought down the cavern on top of their bodies. We all ran like hell, the bus barely keeping ahead of the collapsing crater, you jumping from building to building because, typically, you missed the bus. Finally we made it out of Sunnydale –which is now a huge lake, by the way- and, after a short stop at the nearest hospital, made our way to Cleveland to set up Slayer HQ.

"You with me so far?" Buffy simply nodded, giving her sister a bit of a thin smile at her sarcastic tone and depiction of events. "Okay, after we set up Giles and most of the newbie Slayers in Cleveland, the Scoobies scattered to collect the new Slayers who had just been Called all over the world and sent them to Cleveland for training. You and I settled in Rome for a couple of years while I finished school and you spent your time boinking this Immortal guy and basically throwing the Fear of Buffy into the European demon populace. The Immortal introduced you to the upper echelons of European society and somehow, for once in your life, you managed to make a good impression.

"By the time we hit the thousand Slayer mark, the secret got out and governments tried to get involved. We flew back to Cleveland and basically called a press conference where you went public and arbitrarily put yourself in charge of the Slayers, and told governments that if they wanted Slayer help they would have to go through you. You were the oldest, you had all that caché with the Euro-trash, but you were an American so the White House couldn't freak about having a euro-weenie in command, and the other Slayers looked up to you for saving their pathetic butts back in Sunnydale, so basically everyone went along with the plan. You led a team of Slayers into Pakistan and captured Osama bin Laden. You sent a team of Slayers into North Korea and took out their nuclear weapons. You sent a team of Slayers into Iran and captured most of the leading clerics, let them know there was nowhere they could hide that you couldn't reach, and if they used atomic weapons you would hunt them all down personally. Since then they have been quietly reading their Koran's, behaving like good little boys and keeping their heads down.

"And while that was going on you had teams take out most of the vampire and demon populations around the world. They're keeping their heads even lower. So there; is that what you wanted to know?"

It was what Buffy _wanted_ to know, but wasn't what she had _expected_ to hear. Capturing bin Laden actually sounded pretty sweet. She hadn't liked to stray from the supernatural when performing her duties, preferring to leave mundane matters to mundane authorities, but she hadn't had a thousand Slayers to back her up either. With those resources available she might have been tempted to branch out as well. It seemed to her that the First Evil had done a surprising amount of… good. With Dawn still glaring at her, Buffy was also pretty sure there was a lot more to the story. "So where did this house come from? Even Travers didn't have a place like this."

The question seemed to catch Dawn off guard, and her tone was a bit more puzzled, a bit less angry, when she explained. "Well, with the demon population cowed but good and better than a thousand trippy Slayers looking for something to do, you set up a company for them to be hired out to those who need their kind of help. As bodyguards, detectives, consultants; stuff like that. Nothing makes a zillionaire oil Sheik happier or more impressive to his clan than to have his own coterie of hot, nubile young Slayers. You charge an arm and a leg, but the people who hire your girls can afford it. I've seen your financial statements. Thirty six million Euros profit, this quarter alone."

Buffy whistled quietly, impressed. "Anya must be in her glory with all that money to play with."

Dawn looked at her, her expression surprised, confused. "Anya didn't make it out of the school. We never even found her body after Sunnydale collapsed. What gives here, Buffy? Don't tell me you _really_ lost your memory?"

For a second of two Buffy was silent, closing her eyes in pain at the loss of another friend. She and Anya had never been close, but the ex-vengeance demon had been Xander's girlfriend and had held her own as part of the team. But from Dawn's perspective it had also happened a long time ago, and Buffy's reaction had made her even more suspicious. "So if I'm doing all those wonderful things, how come you're pissed off at me?"

For the first time, her sister met her eyes directly, unflinching, no longer afraid. "You mean besides the fact that _you're fucking Willow_?"

"_I'm what_?" Jumping to her feet in surprise, Buffy looked back towards the room she had awakened in, but of course could only see a wall. In her own mind however, she was recalling the girl in her bed at the time. "She had _dark_ hair! If that's Willow what the hell is she doing with _dark hair_? _And why the hell am I sleeping with her_?" Desperately trying not to scream too loudly and bring the patrolling Slayers she could sense in the corridor outside the bedroom running, Buffy's words came out harsh and intense, her posture defensive as she stalked around the bed, unable to remain still. The idea of the First sleeping with Willow freaked her out. The knowledge that Dawn thought it was her sleeping with Willow was just… icky.

Her reaction totally threw Dawn. Whatever she was expecting, having been debating whether she should bring the matter out into the open for months, this wasn't like any of the reactions she had prepared herself to expect. Defiance, yes. Even amusement. Buffy had become progressively harder, even meaner over the years, and seemed to take a positive delight in shocking people, especially Scoobies, with her behavior. Giles almost never visited any more, and when he did he looked at the girl he had once loved like a daughter like he wanted to kill her. Buffy seemed to relish in his reaction, taunting him, baiting him to give his rage expression. So to have Buffy react like she was just as horrified as Dawn had been by the relationship wasn't anything close to what she was expecting.

On the other hand, Willow had been getting progressively creepier herself for years. She was back with the magicks, toying with it, testing her limits, saying all the right things about not abusing it, but dying her wonderful red hair so that nobody would know how far she had really gone the path towards Dark Willow. But Buffy's horrified reaction, perversely, made her almost defend the relationship. "What's this? You lose your memory and you're freaked out that you turned into a lesbo? You haven't given up on men. Should I tell you about the three-somes? More-somes, even?"

"I am not a _lesbo_! Lesbian. Whatever. And I'm _not_ freaked out about it. Well, I'm not freaked out about the _lesbian_ part. I'm freaked out about the _Willow_ part of it! She's my _friend_, for crissakes. That's just _wrong_!"

Dawn smiled, enjoying the opportunity to see her infuriatingly possessed and viciously sarcastic sister on the receiving end for once. "You have a problem with boinking friends? Damn, I got that one all wrong. Should I be screwing my enemies instead?"

That brought Buffy's head snapping up, and Dawn swallowed nervously at the intensity of her glare. "I do _not_ want to know about who you have been 'boinking,' young lady. Unless you want every man who meets you subjected to a 'big sisterly' interrogation, I would suggest you not go there."

It was a threat, but nothing like the threat she would have expected to come from the sister she had been living with these past few years, the sister who had become meaner, angrier, and even sadistically smarter with every passing year. That Buffy would have threatened _her_. Of course, _that_ Buffy didn't give a damn who she screwed, had never even brought up the subject. Dawn was finally starting to believe that something was definitely wrong with her sister. Or maybe something was finally _right_, after years of being wrong. "Okay then, if you won't talk about Willow, then perhaps I should bring up the topic of money. Even the profits from Slayers, Inc. wouldn't bring in a fraction of the outlay going through our accounts. Even on first-order approximations I figure you're paying out better than five hundred million dollars a year on various 'causes and charities,' and I don't know where the money is coming from, or who it's going to. I don't _know_; but I'm real nervous about what I'm hearing."

Her eyes were hard as she met those of her still mentally off-balance sister. "For instance, I'm hearing that a lot of the people paying for Slayer protection are actually being threatened by _other Slayers_. I'm hearing that a lot of the industrial espionage being carried out these days could not be done by people with merely-human abilities. I'm hearing that some of the most powerful and dangerous demon clans are claiming that they have 'arrangements' which make them immune from Slayer retaliation. And worst yet, I'm starting to hear rumors that entire governments are being threatened, that if they interfere or attempt to resist certain Slayer activities you'll arrange for their enemies to have access to their defenses or their families.

"The things I'm hearing are scaring the crap out of me, Buffy. What the hell are you doing? A lot of that money is going to political parties in foreign countries, to 'freedom fighters' who sound worse than the terrorists you used to put away. It almost looks like you're trying to conquer the world for some reason, to make even governments subservient to your whims."

She was still lying in bed, arms crossed above the blankets, no longer afraid to meet her sister's eyes. This time it was her sister who couldn't meet her eyes. "It's not me doing it."

That statement just confused Dawn even more than she already was. "Who else could it be, Buffy? _You're_ in charge of the Slayers. None of them would dare challenge you. Faith was the only one with enough stature to try, and the way you slapped her down and kicked her out made everyone else who even thought about it change their minds in a hurry. So if you're claiming someone is making you do this, I'm not buying it."

Finally her sister met her eyes. "Not even if it was the First?"

Dawn's was caught by surprise. That wasn't a name she'd heard in a long time. "The First is back! I thought you killed it in Sunnydale!"

There was a slight pause before Buffy spoke. "I didn't kill it, Dawn. _It_ killed _me_."

There was dead silence in the room as Dawn tried to process the words, but her mind was almost paralyzed. Then a storm of memories flowed through her brain in an instant; changes she had noticed in her sister, differences she had attributed to growing up and the result of their radical change in lifestyle. But she shook those thoughts aside. It was impossible. "No. Even if you were… dead… the First could only wear your guise as an incorporeal manifestation. You'd be a ghost who looked like my sister. I don't know what you are tying to do, but…"

Interrupting, Buffy brought up all the things she had considered when she first awakened in the mental institution in Elizabeth's body. "We were inside the Hellmouth. Spike was using a medallion provided by _Wolfram and Hart_, and Caleb led me right to the Scythe. There was more psychic and supernatural energy in that cavern than anywhere else in the universe, and all the tools we used to blow it apart could be traced back to the First. You know my plan was a joke… hell, you never would have kicked me out of the house earlier if you hadn't realized I was completely crazy. Face it Dawn; the First set us up, we took the bait, I paid the price, and it's been occupying my body ever since Sunnydale. You must have suspected it. I'd hate to think I sucked so badly as a sister that the most evil creature in the universe could take my place and you never even noticed it."

Dawn was staring at her in horror, eyes huge, holding herself tightly with her crossed arms. Buffy didn't say anything else, just let her process the information, let her figure it out on her own. In a lot of ways Dawn was smarter than her. Not in real-world, cut-throat matters involving violence or its theory and application, but when it came to languages or science or technical matters, Dawn had always blown her out of the water. The monks who created her had used Buffy's DNA as a template, but had modified it, had wanted their creation to have her own identity, her own personality distinct from her genetic sibling's. So it was no surprise to Buffy that Dawn was able to work through the possibilities, the permutations, far quicker than should would have been able to do had their situation been reversed. "If you… died… seven years ago, how can you be here now?"

"Whistler gave me fifteen minutes to talk to you while the First was off somewhere else. That was about five minutes ago. I have to be back in bed before it comes back. We're running real low on time here, Dawn."

The warning came too late. Dawn had already jumped out from the bed, rushing over to wrap Buffy in her arms, hugging her tightly, tears streaming down her face with the sudden realization that she had been living with an imposter, which meant that her sister was dead. Within seconds she was an emotional basket case, hearing Buffy's warning about the time limit they were under but unable to put the emotions of the situation aside and discuss practical matters when her sister had just come back from the dead to be with her, again. So she wrapped her in her arms, amazed at how short Buffy was, as it had been a long time since she had hugged her, prevented from making such emotional displays even without knowing the girl was actually the First. But all too soon Buffy had to gently disengage herself, her own eyes a bit moist and afraid of leaving such a clue for the First to ponder upon its return.

It was only when she moved away that she had the opportunity to look at Dawn, and when she did her bottom lip began to quiver. The devastated sadness in her expression even broke through Dawn's emotional reaction. "Buffy? What's wrong?"

Almost in tears, mouth quivering, Buffy gestured at her. Dawn thought there was something wrong with her extremely expensive silk gown before Buffy managed to find her voice. "You've got _boobs_! Wasn't it enough that they gave you all that height? No, they had to give you _boobs_ as well!" Glancing down at her own less-than-spectacular endowment, Buffy began mumbling to herself. "Damned monks. Celibate, austere priests my ass. I should have known the horny bastards would give her tits too…"

As far as Dawn was concerned, that clinched it. Only Buffy would obsess about her cleavage at a time like this. Reaching back to hug her precious sister once again, she simply held her, tightly, twisting them a bit almost as if dancing, basking. But they had very little time, forever wouldn't have been enough, so finally Dawn released her and tried to get back to business. "So, what do you want me to do?"

With a final jealous glare at her 'little' sister's chest, Buffy tried to get back on track. "First of all, you need to get away from here. Not right away. Don't give it any reason investigate what happened tonight, because this thing is so damned smart it might put two and two together. Maybe use the thing with Willow as an excuse to leave. Accept any restrictions it demands; just get out from its home. Because I hate to say it, but _you_ have to be the ultimate objective of all this effort."

"Me! Isn't becoming the ruler of the world enough?"

"For the First? Hell no! It wants to rule the _universe_, and guess what the only thing is that is preventing that from happening?"

It took a second, before Dawn scowled as she got the message. "The Key." She hadn't thought of herself as 'the Key' in a long time. It was part of her history, but conferred no power, gave her no special abilities. Since it didn't affect her life she didn't spare it much thought. But it was always there, in the back of her mind, a reality which couldn't be ignored, a potential threat she could never forget. Some part of her had always known the Key would sooner or later come back to haunt her.

Buffy simply nodded. "It knows you're the Key… but not always." At Dawn's look of confusion, she explained more fully. "Do you remember the spell that made everyone forget that Glory and Ben shared the same body?" Until Buffy brought it up Dawn hadn't remembered, but she nodded at the reminder. "Something like that is going on with you. I'm not sure if Willow did a spell, or the Key did it itself, but you could go out and tell everyone that you were the Key, and seconds later they will all forget it. I think it was the Key, because it works everywhere, even where I am. The First is partly corporeal now is affected by the same spell, so most of the time it won't know what you are either. But it's incredibly powerful… Dawn, you must never, _ever_, underestimate the power of this thing. It will have to figure it out each time it needs to know where the Key is, but it will be able to do it. I guarantee it. Your most basic line of defense is not to be here as a constant reminder, and force it to make a move when it decides the time has come to do what it intends to do."

"You mean, like the whole blood thing? With that stupid tower?"

Shaking her head negatively, Buffy tried to explain things that were partly the result of Asgard information, and partly her own speculations. "Glory had a prophesy to work with, a cosmic alignment which won't be repeated for a million years. The First will have to do it the hard way, which means massive amounts of power just to initiate the portal. That's probably why it needs to be so rich and powerful on a political basis. It's going to need serious clout and technical know-how just to get this thing started. Right now it doesn't have nearly enough, so you've got some time.

"The bad news here though is that it's still the First, despite wearing my body. It can still read minds, it can still manipulate people. Only it's also got Slayer muscles to back it up now. I don't think it can read _you_ very well… maybe not at all. So whatever plans you come up with, keep them to yourself."

She paused when Dawn frowned. "You're wrong about that, Buffy. Remember the First came to me before, pretending to be mom, warning me that you wouldn't choose me in the end."

Swallowing a deep breath, Buffy sighed, hoping Dawn wouldn't have remembered that episode. She should have known better. "That wasn't the First, Dawn. I think that was the _Key_, warning you about _me_. At that time you were waaay too dependent on me, and I think it knew you were too vulnerable. I can't prove it, but I think almost everything you saw was a manifestation of your own subconscious, the Key warning you, you acting out to make it physical, make it seem real. I can't prove that, but even if I'm wrong the warning still makes sense. You can't trust me, because right now, in this world, I'm the First, and in the end, even the part of me that is Buffy won't choose you."

When she saw Dawn's look, Buffy sat down on the bed, taking some time to gather her thoughts before looking back at her sister. "I remember the whole thing with Glory, how I threatened to kill anyone who tried to kill you, how I was willing to risk the whole world on a long shot to save you. I would look at other Slayers, the ones who put their Calling above their friends, their _families_, with contempt, wondering what the hell they could make such a choice. Wondering how someone like Nikki Wood could risk her son to take down Spike. But after this little set-to with the First, I'm starting to reassess my position. Sometimes you have to look out for the greater good.

"Ever since I was Called I've been terrified of losing myself, losing the Buffy part of me to become the perfect Slayer. Someone without emotions. A natural predator, capable of taking out any enemy threatening her world, always alone, not close to _anyone_ because _everyone_ needed her skills and she couldn't show favoritism. The whole 'needs of the many' deal Xander kept bringing up. I'm not sure if I'm becoming that person, or if I'm just getting old and making judgment calls no sixteen year old should have to make because they don't have the experience to make them. But you need to know that I can't do what I did before this time, Dawn. I can't sacrifice billions of other people to save you. I _want_ to be able to do that. I _want_ to promise you that I'll protect you above anything, that I'll make it better. But I _can't_. You should know that, and make your own plans accordingly."

Dawn Summers was smart. She spoke five languages and read six more. She was being trained as a Watcher, not something attempted by the academically weak. So it didn't take her long to process Buffy's warning, and as her sister had advised, make her plans accordingly. Sitting down on the bed, she took Buffy's hand in her own, and pressed it gently. "If the Key talked to me once, do you think it knows what is going on?"

Buffy released the deep breath she had taken, grateful Dawn hadn't thrown her out of the room. "I'm not really sure about anything when it comes to the Key. From what I am told, the Key doesn't think like we do, doesn't experience time like we do. I think you need to understand something, Dawn: _you are the Key_. You're not just a girl with the Key in your stomach like an extra appendix. You actually _are_ the Key. The problem is that you, as Dawn, think about a billion times faster than the Key part of you does. I sort of picture it as this giant, slow, subconscious warning system. It sees everything you see, feels everything you feel, processes it all, slowly but a whole lot more thoroughly than your Dawn part. It can provide a subconscious warning when it thinks you're under threat, but is too slow to guide you in real-time.

"With Glory you were _actually under threat_, and that's why the Key part of you got involved. Right now the Key doesn't realize that the First is actually a threat, because it hasn't threatened _you_. I have no idea how long it will take for the Key part of you to figure out that you are both in serious trouble. You're going to have to help it, because only the Key has the power to stop this thing. I hate to tell you this, but if we're going to stop the First at all, _you_ are the one who is going to have to do it. I can provide some help. Weapons, tools, things that will disrupt the First's plans, delay it as long as we can. But in the end it's going to be you and the First, because nobody else has the power to face it. Not me, not even Willow at her witchiest."

Dawn was silent for a moment, taking it all in. She had never thought of herself as 'the Key.' Ever since she had learned of the Key she had pictured it as a magic green ball, floating inside of her, a part _of_ her but distinct _from_ her. Buffy was saying that she –Dawn Summers- and the Key were one and the same, not like the symbiotic relationship between Slayer and Called, but different aspects of the same individual. It was a lot to take in, and she'd need a lot of time to think it through, but for now they were on the clock, and something else Buffy had said needed her attention. "You can provide weapons? _How_? I thought you said you were _dead_?"

"No, I said I _died_. Big difference. Especially when it comes to me. I seem to have a real problem _staying_ dead."

Giving out a loud '_Sqeeee_!" noise and leaping over to pin Buffy to the bed in a huge hug, Dawn actually bounced in excitement, the way she had when she was a kid, the way she hadn't since the First appeared in their lives. Even Buffy had to smile at the excitement in her sister's eyes. "If you're still alive, can you come back? Can you stay here? Where have you been? What is it like there?"

Sitting back up when her sister finally released her, Buffy smiled down at Dawn, lying on the bedspread, looking excited and so much happier than she had when Buffy first stepped foot in her room that she hated to disillusion her. "I can come back, eventually, but I'm actually living in another universe. Time goes different there too. Not even a year has passed for me since Sunnydale. Even if I hurry, I don't think you should expect to see me back here for a couple of years. Where I am that will only be a few months, and it will take time to arrange things."

For a second Dawn frowned in disappointment that they would once again be separated, before she clapped her hands once, accepting it, realizing there was nothing she could do to change it. And at least there was one good thing to come out of this… "Giles is going to be soooo excited when I tell him about you!"

"_No_! You can't tell Giles a thing!" Buffy's frantic words shocked Dawn, and had been so loud Buffy herself paused to listen for any of the patrolling Slayers who might have overheard and come to investigate. Relieved when nothing happened, Buffy turned to face her frowning sister. "Dawn, you can't tell _anyone_. The First could read their mind, and find out about me. If it does it will come after me, it will kill me and everyone helping me. The most important tool I can provide you is a device that will prevent the First from reading their minds, but until then you can't tell anyone about me. You can tell them you think the Buffy they know is actually the First, if you can come up with a good enough explanation, but you _can't_ tell anyone that the _real_ Buffy is still alive somewhere. If you do, we're dead meat. All of us."

Looking not just disappointed but mulish, Dawn tried to negotiate. "I _have_ to tell Giles, Buffy. You don't know what things are like with him. He's been drinking heavily, and rarely shows up for work any more. You'd changed so much, and he was soooo disappointed in some of the decisions you've made, the things you've done. It will make such a difference to him to learn that it wasn't _you_ doing those things, it was the First. We'll get him away afterwards, hide him some place where the First can't read him. She will probably just assume he died drunk in a ditch somewhere."

Buffy knew she was running extremely short on time, but she had to make Dawn understand that some things weren't possible. "Remember me just saying I wouldn't choose you if it comes down to saving the world or saving just you? The same thing goes for Giles. He would never forgive either of us for putting his life ahead of everyone else's. Don't put him in that position."

"But it would mean sooo much to him, to know that you aren't you, that you're the First, doing all these things…"

Closing her eyes, wishing she didn't have to hurt her sister, Buffy saw no other option, so faced her before speaking. "Dawn, Giles already knows I'm the First."

She wasn't surprised to see the confusion in her sister's eyes. Knowing there was no way to spare her the pain, Buffy explained. "Remember back in Sunnydale when you thought Giles might be the First himself, because he wasn't touching anyone and was acting really weird? He said he was attacked by a Bringer, but saw it out of the corner of his eye and 'thrashed it mightily?' Well, think that though for a minute. _Our_ Giles, who had been routinely getting knocked out by newbie vamps for years, is able to defeat a Bringer who had just taken out most of the Council. Uh huh. Not likely. I figure he got captured, and he made a deal with the First."

Looking at her with wide, disbelieving blue eyes, Dawn scurried away, for the first time doubting which Buffy was actually the First. "No! He would never betray you! He was practically your _father_! You're lying to me, trying to deceive me. You're really the First…"

Sighing, Buffy merely lay down on the bed, not even looking at Dawn as she continued. "I had already died twice. I was waaaay past warranty. And I was also in way over my head, and didn't even know it. I didn't say he 'betrayed' me, Dawn; I said he made a deal. The best deal he could get under the circumstances, since he had a pretty weak hand. He couldn't save _me_, but he could do something for the Potentials, maybe even something to protect _you_. He probably felt dirty as hell for doing it, which was why he didn't interact with us much when he came back to Sunnydale. He even tried to make things as easy as possible for me, offering encouragement even though he knew what I was doing was futile. I don't even blame him, really. It would be pretty hypocritical of me if I did, when I'm doing the same thing to him; putting the needs of the mission ahead of the needs of my friends." She laughed bitterly, and Dawn could hear the barely-suppressed tears in her voice. "I've become the Slayer he always wanted me to be. He would be so proud."

It took her a few seconds, and a lot of thinking, before Buffy's words made it through Dawn's anger. But it was the tone which affected her most. No matter what Buffy said, it was killing her to order her not to tell Giles the truth. And despite what she said, it hurt her that Giles hadn't told her the truth. But it was also an order that Dawn, at least intellectually, understood was correct. "Why would he even bother making a deal? What was the point? If _you_ couldn't stop the First, none of the Potentials was going to."

"What's the first rule of Slaying, Dawn? _Don't die_. What you and I are doing right now was the point of making a deal. When you are still alive you never know what might come up. When you're dead, well, your chances of improving the situation are somewhat limited. He made the right call. He really did. I hope I can tell him that some day."

Nodding slowly, Dawn tried to change the subject. "If the First is using your body, why don't I just shoot it… you. You'd still have the body you're using where ever you are, and with the First now corporeal, shooting it would kill her as dead as anyone else."

It took a bit for Buffy to gain control over her emotions, but finally gave Dawn a shaky grin. "Good idea, but the First already thought of that. It's now part of the Great Slayer Chain of Life. If my body dies, it just transfers along with the Slayer to the next Potential to be Called. And the one after that, when she dies. It can't be stopped so long as there is another Potential available. God only knows when that will be. But until then, we can't stop it by attacking its host… and the only one you can tell about me being alive is Xander."

Not expecting the sudden switch in topic, Dawn stared at her sister in shock, until Buffy explained herself. "Caleb took Xander's eye for a reason. He went well out of his way to do it, when there were a lot of Potentials around he could have hurt, and they represented far more of a threat than Xander did. Even the way he acted when he did it was interesting. He seemed almost indignant. He gave this weird speech about taking the eye because Xander was the 'one who sees.' I'm not sure, but I think he was upset that the First _couldn't see Xander_. Taking the eye was his weird way of leveling the playing field.

"Once again I'm guessing, and I don't know how Xander could be invisible to the First when nobody else is. I'm thinking Willow did it; he was always her best friend, and she tended to look out for him. If I'm right, until I get you the psyonic disruptors, you and he are the only two people that the First can't read. But remember that the First knows you are the Key despite the spell making people forget it. If the First is _really_ determined to read Xander I wouldn't be surprised if it could. But I also think it considers Xander to be too little a fish for it to pay any attention to him in the first place. If you're going to trust anyone, I'd suggest Xander."

Buffy didn't know how much time had passed, but suspected she was right at the outer limit of what had been provided. She got up from the bed, and without a word being said, Dawn understood that the time had come to say goodbye. Just like back in Sunnydale, at the school when they separated to go to meet their respective destinies, Dawn silenced her sister when she tried to say something appropriate. Words wouldn't be sufficient. Nothing put in words could express all the feelings, the emotions of the moment. So they simply hugged each other tightly for a few seconds, before Buffy suddenly released her, and rushed back to the other bedroom, getting into the bed only seconds before she felt consciousness slip away. It was probably a good thing. She didn't know if she could have prevented herself from waking Willow, and warning her that the First was using sex to manipulate her, twisting her best friend into a caricature of the wonderful person she was, turning her back into the psychotic, power-mad lunatic which had once cost her everything she held dear.

Or perhaps it was just as well that she had an excuse for _not_ warning her.

She did know that the first thing she wanted to do once she was released from the hospital was visit her new Willow and hug her so tightly her bones would ache. And after that, she wanted to talk to General Hammond about something called a Quantum Mirror.

Fin

This brings 'Far Beyond Normal' to its conclusion. The story will pick up again in a sequel titled 'Return To Normal' which, unfortunately, I haven't written yet. It's been plotted out, but it will be awhile before I get to posting it. I'll need to write a lot of it before I start posting, because I prefer quick updates, and it damned near killed me meeting my posting schedule with this one. The sequel will be more an ensemble piece than the Buffy-centric story this one was, simply because I won't have to provide as much background story so can use the space for additional characters. I should warn those of you who can't stand Dawn that she'll be a major player in the sequel.

I want to thank everyone for their feedback and encouragement. I put a lot of work into this story and I'm glad to see so many of you enjoyed it.


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